Every You, Every Me
by The Ultimate Otaku
Summary: Blaise's plan to seduce Malfoy gets derailed when Malfoy kisses Potter. Said Potter is cursing the fact that he is attracted to Blaise Zabini. Draco has feelings, or something, for Potter, but meanwhile, he has bigger problems to deal with! COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first Harry Potter fanfic in a long while. Can someone please tell me if it is good? Or am I just wasting my time in fantasy?_

_I've wanted to write a fic with Harry, Blaise, and Draco for a long time. I wrote a disatisfactory one years ago. This is my attempt to write it with more plot and less rambling, and plain better. Please tell me, is it good?_

_I am using more of Canon's plot in this fic than I have in other, character or pairing-focused fanfics. This will be an interesting ride. Pardon me for any mistakes, please. Tell me if you find any whopping ones that scream at you._

PROMPTS FOR THIS FIC (randomly chosen):

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

**I AM RETITLING THIS FIC'S OVER-USED, CLICHE TITLE. ANY IDEAS?  
><strong>

**"EVERY YOU, EVERY ME" -_ until new title is decided on_  
><strong>

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_XOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

_BLAISE_

No one else pissed Blaise off as much as Draco Malfoy.

He hated that goddamn smirk at every hour of the day. He hated the whining; he hated the way Malfoy got everything he wanted, even down to the best bed in the Sixth Year Slytherin dormitory (the one on the end, by the window). He hated the way Malfoy made people do things for him - which Blaise thought weak - as if he were superior. And he hated that look Malfoy got around his "friends" when he made a joke, which demanded, _laugh, or else._

Mostly, Blaise hated the way that Malfoy – lazy, arrogant, bitchy Malfoy - attracted him.

The blonde's attitude was anything but attractive. Sure, he could be funny. Sure, he had wit. Sure, he was good in classes and well-read. Sure, he possessed the etiquette required of a Pureblood heir. But his idiotic preening was too much. Especially because Blaise couldn't disagree. Malfoy _was_ attractive - especially if you could ever get him to shut up.

When he was quiet, he was even beautiful. Blaise liked to watch him. Malfoy's hair was like silver in the light, a lamp in the corridor smash full of dark robes. He watched the delicate tilt of Malfoy's head as he scanned the Great Hall. He watched the pursing, full mouth with the flash of pink moistening tongue, when Malfoy was concentrating on his studies. He watched the every curve and line in that graceful body when Malfoy rose off the Quidditch pitch. He watched the long, swaggering gait, and the languid way Malfoy draped himself over a couch, over a Hogwarts Express seat, over Pansy Parkinson (stupid, lucky girl).

Blaise watched all of it. It all pissed him off. It was torture to hear Malfoy speak his name during the brief train trips were he cavorted with _the group. _It was torture to hear Malfoy laugh, and to watch him, always watching and never getting a glance in return. But Blaise couldn't stop. He was pissed off at Malfoy, and at himself.

How had he gotten himself into this? Why couldn't he stop?

It was all his mother's fault. If she hadn't killed her most recent husband, Anthony, then Blaise's hormones and attention would not have needed to hunt a new target down. But she had killed Anthony, of course, when she found him with Blaise in her bed.

Ouch. Blaise hadn't meant to be discovered. He hadn't done such a bad job calculating a plan in years. He was usually so good at staying in his mother's good graces. It was a secret many men had tried to steal from him. He had taken advantage of Anthony's desperation and turned it into desperation for Blaise, instead. It was admitting to himself that he maybe missed Anthony, beautiful, tempestuous Anthony, which made Blaise go on the hunt once more.

Only Anthony had been able to distract Blaise to the point of such miscalculations. He had made Blaise stupid, stupid with lust. Blaise hadn't been that stupid in a while. It had felt good. But now...it was bad. Very bad. How was Blaise ever going to get Draco Malfoy? He had to get what he wanted. Unlike Malfoy, though, he wasn't one to expect what he wanted to fall into his lap.

No more waiting and watching. It was time to start the hunt.

_XOXOXOXOXOXXOOXXOXOXOXOXO_

_DRACO_

The dreams sometimes felt real right after he woke up. They certainly felt real during.

In this one, the burning sensation was not created by a black, consuming fire, a number of horrible spells, or the long, pale fingertips of the Dark Lord. But it was just as horrifying as the rest of them.

He lay alone, in a room so dark that he could not even see his own body. Only the needle was visible. It glowed in the dark, gleaming silver, and he could do nothing to stop it. A hand, cold and distant, pulled up his sleeve. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He tried to shake his head to get the shameful tears away. But he couldn't even move his head! He could only wait for it.

The cold pin prick of the needle touched his arm. Pain. It was like this every time. It felt like the Cruciatus curse had, when Draco was twelve and his aunt Bellatrix had decided to have some fun. She had made up for it later by teaching him Occlumency, but he would never forget the pain.

When the needle dug into his skin, the pain increased. It rolled hard through his body, and he could only compare the sensation to being yanked in different directions by Port keys. His stomach roiled with it. And always, always, the hissing voice was in his head, commanding him, praising him, or taunting him. No matter what the voice said, it always made fear clench in his gut. He was not a Gryffindor, and his lack of bravery made him loathe himself sometimes. He loathed himself most in those moments where he sat in the presence of the Dark Lord and just hearing that voice made him break out in a cold sweat. Even in dreams, it scared all the sense out of him.

The Dark Lord liked to wipe all sense away, and replace it with only his desires. Identity was important to Draco, and he had an inkling that the Dark Lord knew of his pride in his name, his House, and his possessiveness towards what he considered his. But the Dark Lord wanted Draco and all his belongings to be his. Draco wouldn't be anything, just a servant. That was perhaps the most scary part of it. His fear would come out in his dreams; the pain would wipe away everything he was.

As the needle began to carve its design into his skin, dream-Draco gritted his teeth and tried not to scream. The Dark Lord was saying his name now, tauntingly, waiting for him to break. He resisted, feeling the magic of the needle burst over him in waves. It dug deeper, and began to create a burning hot sensation.

When it left, Draco stared at the Mark the needle had left on his arm. The skull with its open mouth seemed to laugh at him. New, the Mark burned red. Sometimes in his dreams, the Mark would cool, and become black. Now the pain became so great that he had to scream. Victorious, the Dark Lord laughed at his misery.

Draco shot awake in the dark, panting. He gulped in deep breaths of air, willing himself not to throw up. _It's not real, it's not real, it's not _real! His face was sticky with tears, and his arms were shaking. As he sucked breath back in loudly, grateful for the Imperturbable charm around his bed, he tried to think. It was difficult, with the memory of the pain still searing through his brain. He hated that helpless feeling.

Anger followed hot on the heels of his despair. It always did that and often got him in trouble. He'd gotten detention from Snape for blasting a fellow House mate across the Sixth Year dormitory. It had felt so good! Power had coursed through him again. He hadn't even had to recite a spell; his anger had flared out and blasted the boy against the stone wall. He'd deserved it for waking up Draco in the midst of the nightmare. Draco would never nap during the day again, if the nightmares were going to haunt him even then.

Okay. He was ready. He clenched his fist against the urge to grab his wand, and took a deep breath. The fear swam in him like a fluid eel, and he cursed it over and over in his mind. If he could vent his anger somehow, in words or in spells, it was like a release. Without it, he was a robot on autopilot.

Swallowing hard, he pulled up the sleeve of his night shirt. His hand shook, and he cursed it for shaking like that.

He looked at his arm. It was blank. Of course it was. The Dark Lord had promised him the Mark only after he completed his task. What had he expected? Yet he breathed normally again, in relief, anyway.

Draco flopped back on his bed. He shut his eyes against the memory of the burning sensation on his arm, and tried to remember how much Draught of Peace potion he had left. He hated using it so quickly, especially since it was not the easiest to make, but sometimes he had to. His mother had advised it, and Snape had supplied some ingredients recently.

Draco sighed and turned over. He hated help. He _hated_ the way his mother coddled him even more since his father had been sent to Azkaban. Almost worse than the nightmares about the Mark were the ones of his father in Azkaban…

No. He wouldn't think of that. It was not the time. He had a Quidditch game tomorrow against Gryffindor, and he would not lose to Potter this time! Potter. That was another line of thought Draco did not want to follow right now. He felt his blood pounding in his ears just at the mere beginning of a mental thread on Potter.

He leaned out of the protective, sound-proofed spell around his bed, and whispered the spells to unlock his trunk. His House mates couldn't be trusted. They were Slytherins, after all. He summoned his potions kit and returned to his bed. A gulp of Sleeping Draught was all it took, and the world faded away.

_XOXOOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

_BLAISE_

It was 2 a.m in the morning. That was the _second_ time Blaise had seen Malfoy unlock his trunk and summon some secret potions kit to his bed. Both times had been late at night, when Blaise lay awake, tortured by insomnia. He was the real Slytherin ghost, as they rarely saw the Bloody Baron – it was Blaise who haunted the Slytherin Common Room and Sixth Year dormitory at night, reading by candle light, and musing alone.

Clearly something was wrong with Malfoy. He had been the blonde's House mate for five years and counting, and had even played with Malfoy as a child long ago. In all that time, he had never known the Malfoy heir to be like this. He seemed nervous, terse, and even more sensitive and short-tempered than usual.

Malfoy didn't blow a fuse like Weasley, but his words were extra cutting, even to his House mates. They were meant to hurt rather than tease. Malfoy had caused a House mate to fly across the room and then hit him with Furnunculus two days ago, causing boils to erupt all over his victim. Then Snape had appeared (in that mysterious way he always did) and stopped it.

Malfoy had gotten a detention. He had been rash, per usual, but it also made Blaise curious. Why had he reacted so strongly, as if he were in danger? What might he have dreamt? Why was he so explosive in general lately?

It could just be Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment in Azkaban that was bothering Malfoy. Merlin knew even Blaise was a bit nervous when he considered how easily his mother could be put in there if she let anything slip. Sometimes he wished her there in his mind, but in reality, he would wish that on no one. Maybe his dad, for being an asshole idiot who'd gotten himself killed, but his mum had doled out the necessary punishment already, when Blaise was five.

He had to admit he felt a bit sorry for Malfoy, if he was worrying over his father. He hoped his House mate hadn't gone and done something stupid, like become a Death Eater. The Dark Lord was probably smarter than to recruit a teenager, but...if he wanted to punish Lucius further – purportedly Lucius had screwed up with the Dark Lord – what better way than to make his son suffer?

Blaise couldn't help but repress a shiver, imagining his House mate bowing before the Dark Lord. His mother approved wholly of Pureblood supremacy and the slaughter of Muggleborns and blood-traitors, but that was the furthest she got to supporting the Dark Lord. Having a father as a Death Eater, as well as an aunt who was the Dark Lord's right hand woman, had to be far worse.

But the mystery of Malfoy would not help Blaise fall asleep. Neither would thinking of Malfoy as he had looked in his fury before he cast Furnunculus. His face had gotten pink, which was funny, but his mouth was pursed in this distracting way that reminded Blaise of kissing, and his eyes had been like bluebell fire. God, he was gorgeous like that. He had filled out since last year alone, and gotten a little taller. It was hard to tell anything else beneath robes, even if Malfoy was a purist who wore _only_ robes, and even if he had them tailored to fit.

This train of thought followed Blaise to sleep and was in his head the next morning at breakfast. He decided to sit away from Malfoy, because he couldn't stand watching Parkinson fawn over Malfoy one more second.

Oh. From the corner of his eye, Blaise watched Malfoy down the table. He couldn't hear what was said, but that angry expression appeared again (stop it, Blaise, he told himself) and Parkinson got up and left the hall. Well, well. That was interesting. It couldn't just be Quidditch, could it?

Blaise ate silently, and occasionally looked up from his book to glance at Malfoy. The second and third times, he caught Malfoy looking over at the Gryffindor table. Nervous? He should be. Potter looked in high spirits today, laughing with his fellow Gryffindorks. You didn't have to be a Quidditch player to know that high spirits meant good game play.

He had a Potions essay to write, but fuck it. Part of him hated seeing Malfoy lose to Potter _every damn time_, but he also liked watching Malfoy on a broom. It gave him far too many ideas…and he knew in the back of his head he would never get his essay done…but so what? Maybe then he'd share detention with Malfoy….God he was obsessed.

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXXOOXOXOXXOXOXO_

_HARRY_

Harry had at first thought that there was nothing that could wreck his day. It was beautiful and sunny, and he had finished his homework for the week yesterday afternoon. He had no detentions. And Ginny Weasley's hair was glowing in a very distracting way, especially as she shot up into the sky on her broom when Madam Hooch blew the whistle.

Even Ginny's hair couldn't keep Harry distracted from the Snitch, though. Malfoy was extra determined today, choosing to ignore Harry altogether and instead zoom around searching for the Snitch. Ha! Finally realized he couldn't catch the Snitch when he was spouting his mouth off, had he? Harry grinned. He wanted even more fervently to catch the Snitch now, so he could prove that he could still beat Malfoy, even if Malfoy was finally paying attention to himself instead of bothering Harry.

For a while, the game was quiet, and Harry occasionally flicked a glance at Malfoy to see if the other Seeker saw anything. Nope. Malfoy paused a couple times high in the air, his eyes scanning for the Snitch, just as Harry was doing. Then he would move to another spot. He had no pattern. Every time the crowd cheered, his head whipped towards Harry suspiciously. Harry grinned at this, and Malfoy scowled.

Gryffindor had one hundred points over Slytherin when Harry saw it. It was flitting over by Ernie Macmillan, who had been assigned as announcer. He wasn't bad at it, enthused, but nothing beat the time Luna Lovegood had held that position, in Harry's opinion.

As soon as Malfoy saw Harry shooting through the air towards the podium, he was following. The wind streamlined Harry's robes behind him, but he didn't close his eyes against the force of it. The golden Snitch was still hovering by the podium. He could hear Ernie shouting distantly, and see in his peripheral vision that Malfoy was gaining on him.

In seconds Malfoy was right next to him. Now they were shoulder to shoulder, bumping, and Malfoy's hand reached out for the Snitch –

Harry knocked his hand aside and his fingertips snapped the wing tips of the Snitch. He rolled it into his palm, feeling Malfoy's nails dig bloody scratches on the back of his hand. Malfoy cursed as Harry got a good hold on it. Harry left the Slytherin behind and flew up into the air, shaking his fist wildly.

"AND HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH YET AGAIN! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Ernie was screaming, everyone was screaming, and Harry zoomed around a couple times before joining his team. They were in an uproar, laughing, clapping him on the back, Ginny was smiling, and Ron was crowing over Malfoy's defeat.

Harry turned to the Slytherins on the other side of the pitch, half-expecting some sort of confrontation with the blonde Slytherin.

Instead, Malfoy had his wand out, but he was pointing it at his own House mates and team. What? Harry's lip curled. It was said that Slytherins were only after their own gain, but this was proof. You never went after your House mate. The Slytherins were all shouting about something, presumably Malfoy's almost-success with the Snitch. Urquhart shouted something about the Jelly-Fingers hex, which made Ron roar in laughter.

In a flash, Malfoy had his wand out and was about to curse or hex Urquhart. Curse the team Captain, great idea, Malfoy! Harry laughed. Then Blaise Zabini, the tall, dark Slytherin Harry had seen at Slughorn's "party" on the train to Hogwarts, whipped Malfoy's wand out of his hand. He forcibly pulled Malfoy away with one arm across his shoulder.

It would have been an all-out brawl next, by the look on Malfoy's face, but Snape showed up and as soon as Malfoy saw him, he abruptly shut up. Wow. Harry wished Snape had that power all the time; then he wouldn't have had to deal with so much of Malfoy harassing him in Potions.

He left with his team then, but on the way to Hogsmeade to celebrate – thank Merlin for free afternoons – he couldn't help but wonder why Malfoy seemed more angry than usual, and what was up between him and Snape.

His musing was put aside as he, Ron, and Hermione entered the Three Broomsticks. They chose a table in the corner by a fire, and ordered Butter beer.

Harry drank it with a sigh, easing back into his chair. He laughed when Ron recounted the game from his perspective, joking the whole time, while Hermione was smiling but evidently bored. She had had enough Quidditch for the day. Harry started to discuss where they would go to next, and they readily took up the change of topic. While Hermione and Ron were arguing between Zonko's or Scrivenshaft's, more Hogwarts students came in the door. Harry lifted up his head a little when he saw a glimpse of silver amongst them, and sure enough, it was Malfoy.

He was accompanied by Blaise Zabini, surprisingly enough, and Crabbe and Goyle were mysteriously absent. The two lone Slytherins sat down on the furthest side of the room from Harry, at a little table by a window. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs waved hello, and Harry waved back. But his attention was on the Slytherins. Harry watched as the two boys treated Madam Rosmerta courteously, and then when she left to get their drinks, he found himself still staring.

Blaise Zabini was quite a mystery. He seemed to stay in the shadows for the most part, as if he lacked the tell-tale Slytherin ambition, but the story about his murderous mother on the train had made Harry wary. He knew, too, that Blaise found Ginny attractive, having overheard it before returning to his cabin after Slughorn's little get-together. So he found himself a little angry, as he stared at Zabini, but also…

Harry swallowed and looked away. Not that again. It was something he'd dealt with in Fourth Year and had tried to expunge from himself with Cho, but…there it was, again. He found that he liked other blokes sometimes, and not just as friends…Cedric had been one, but then he died. Harry didn't know how to begin figuring out this new feeling in himself. He had enough to figure out already, what with private lessons with Dumbledore, being able to see into Voldemort's head, and two constantly-bickering friends.

They so clearly wanted each other, and Harry was envious. At least they knew what they wanted, and whom.

Harry felt queasiness in his belly and a pulsing in his throat when he looked at Zabini – who was startlingly handsome, but in a more slippery, Slytherin way than Cedric's masculine, chiseled appeal. Zabini's dark skin was beautiful, and his large eyes had long lashes. (Harry remembered that from the train.) He kept his wild, curly hair held back by a swipe of some gel (Sleekeazy?), but only a little, which left curls to fall into his eyes. He kept shoving them back with one delicate, ringed hand. He was tall, and well-built, with a smooth low voice.

Harry dragged his gaze away from Zabini and back to his friends. He wanted to laugh that they hadn't noticed anything, and immediately charged into the conversation, suggesting Honeydukes. He felt a little hungry now. Or was it that maybe eating would get his mind off of, well, other ideas he currently had for what to do with his mouth…argh! He wished he had Sirius to talk to about this, because only Sirius would have felt right. Dumbledore, no, never, Ron would never understand, and Hermione would be _too_ understanding. Plus, she might assume that just because Harry liked guys, he was gay, when Harry's inkling attraction for Ginny told him that he was clearly not.

He wondered if Zabini, with his murderous, evidently seductive mother, was a good kisser.

He looked at his watch, checking the time, and realized they had been in the Three Broomsticks for a long time. Harry was on his second or third Butter beer and was feeling dazed and woozy. His cloak was off, his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was messy from the wind. He was leaning back so far in his chair now that he thought he might fall, but the thought only made him laugh. He felt good.

Suddenly, the snapping click of a boot interrupted the boisterous hum of Ron and Hermione's conversation. Harry looked up. There, standing right in front of him, was Malfoy. He looked cool and composed, quite like he had during the Quidditch game, and quite unlike his furious, shouting self after. His hair was growing a little long, blonde hair touching his collar, and his mouth was set in a straight line.

Harry looked at Malfoy's hands. No wand. But he fingered his anyway, and edged to sit up and look behind Malfoy. Zabini was eyeing the scene with a fire whiskey in one hand, and on the table in front of him were a few more. That was a lot of fire whiskey, Harry thought.

It was the last thing he thought before everything went mad. For the next he knew, Malfoy had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and then oddly wrapped an arm around Harry as if he was hugging him. What in bloody hell? Then a pair of soft, gentle lips were over Harry's, brushing against his feather-light. A quick, hot tongue stroked over his mouth, a sensation which left Harry quite dazed, and then that slippery, fiery tongue was _in_ his mouth, oh Merlin, and Harry felt the itching, aching feeling that he had when he looked at Zabini, or a few others, roar hot and fast in him. Lust.

It was pounding in his ears, and he wanted to kiss back, because that tongue was so good, he had never felt anything like it. He thought if it stroked against his tongue any more he might moan. Then in a second it was gone, and the real world returned, because Ron had yanked Malfoy away from Harry and was pounding his face, and then Zabini rushed over, and Harry heard an awful crack as Ron was hit by some spell and fell to the floor. Then Zabini dragged Malfoy away, and slammed the door to the loo closed.

"RON!"

Harry bent down by Hermione to look at his friend. Ron was unconscious, and he had a growing lump on his head. A fierce red burn mark was seared across his face, and the skin looked melted and…Harry's stomach protested. He told it to shut up, and watched with baited breath as Hermione performed healing spells. The second Ron was conscious, Harry gripped his hand, and then he leaped up.

"Harry, NO! Just let them go!"

Harry ignored Hermione, and sped towards the loo room with his wand at the ready. Just as he reached the door, he heard a whispered, "Colloportus!" The door squelched closed even tighter with magic, and Harry knew no spell would get him in there. Plus, Madam Rosmerta was glaring daggers at him, even as she helped Hermione get Ron standing. Damn!

They left Hogsmeade and went to Zonko's, because Ron insisted he was alright. Even so, they returned to Hogwarts early, and rather than talk to a distressed Hermione or wait for Ron to ask, "Why did Malfoy kiss you?" Harry went to the library to try to figure it out by himself.

Upon thinking back, he realized that the logical explanation to it all was that Malfoy had been raging drunk on fire whiskey. There was no other explanation that made any sense. Harry knew there was no ancient Pureblood tradition that said you kissed your enemy after they beat you at Quidditch. He laughed. If that were the case, Malfoy would have kissed him countless times before in the past five years at Hogwarts…

Harry put his head in his arms when the thought of that made keen eagerness and arousal reach up in him again. Malfoy was a good kisser. He had been surprisingly gentle, tender, not at all fumbling or aggressive, like someone drunk perhaps should kiss like. He obviously had experience. And his tongue…Harry groaned softly. He hadn't kissed like that with anyone before. Short, soaking kisses with Cho were nothing compared to that soft, wet heat gliding in his mouth. What would it feel like if…?

Harry groaned again. It would not do to get hard in the library, Merlin! But what was he thinking? This was Malfoy! He couldn't think of anything he liked about Malfoy, really, except for today's kiss…already though, that kiss was forcing him to re-assess, because he was a horny teenager and couldn't help it, the fates were against him, as they always had been.

He found himself assessing Malfoy's physical appearance, and while compared to Zabini or Cedric he was nothing to look at, Malfoy's mouth was finely shaped and soft, and his blue eyes were bright, and his hair had a certain glow to it…and his body, which Harry really only had the chance to ever study in Quidditch, was lean, he supposed. Malfoy always wore robes. It was hard to tell anything beneath all that. And there was that time he'd looked like a vicar at the Yule Ball…Harry's eyes had been on Cedric then, Cedric and Cho, Cedric confusing and beautiful in Harry's mind, and Cho, whom he had convinced himself he really wanted…

Argh. He thought of Draco again, and the kiss, and wanted to touch himself. He wondered what Madam Pince would do if she found someone wanking off in the library. He tried to think of Snape and other nasty things and people to get his hard-on away, but that only got him wondering why Malfoy was so suddenly obedient, or afraid, of Snape. Because why else would he have shut up when Snape showed up?

Then there was Zabini, of course...Merlin!

He went back to the Common Room with a head ache, and a foot or two of a horrible Transfiguration essay proved enough distraction. For the time being…

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXO_

_Thoughts? Please?_

_XOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO  
><em>

You may notice I made some changes to Canon (aka, what we know in book 6). Here they are:

- Draco is not a Death Eater

- Harry does not suspect Draco of being one; no spying on Draco in Knockturn alley and on the train and getting his nose broken

- Lucius Malfoy is still in Azkaban

Things I kept:

- Slughorn, the Slug Club, and the Slug Club's first meeting on the train

- Harry's private lessons with Dumbledore

- Draco has an assignment from Voldemort

- Blaise, his family history, and his Canon good looks and arrogance

- Blaise's lack of respect for Malfoy and disregard for Death Eaters

- I haven't mentioned the HBP's textbook yet, but...it's there, and I think Sectumsempra, Levicorpus, etc. will make their appearances.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't like this chapter as much as the first. I feel that there is too much talking and internal dialogue. Shoot. Sorry, all. _

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXO_

PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

_XOXOXOOXOOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX_

**I AM RETITLING THIS FIC'S OVER-USED, CLICHE TITLE. ANY IDEAS?**

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_CHAPTER TWO_

_BLAISE_

After preventing Potter from entering with Colloportus, Blaise walked over to where Malfoy was bent over a toilet puking his insides out. He sat on the counter behind Malfoy, in front of the row of stalls. Quietly, he asked, "So. Malfoy. Are you puking because you just kissed Potter, or because of all that fire whiskey?"

He waited until Malfoy was done making horrible sounds and then looked over. Malfoy was pale and drawn and trembling. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then glared back at Blaise.

"It was the fire whiskey, you idiot," he hissed. He turned away and sat still for a moment, taking deep breaths. Blaise waited for him to say something else, some explanation, but he didn't.

Hmm. What on earth would attract Malfoy to Potter? For surely, there could be no other reason for kissing him. He wouldn't do it on a stupid dare. He wouldn't do it, Blaise thought, even if the Dark Lord himself had ordered him to. He had transformed from angry to sulky on the way over, enough that Blaise had convinced him to stop for a drink. Or a few. And he hadn't, really, gotten all that drunk. He hadn't been too sloshed to think straight. One moment he was sitting with Blaise, then he'd waltzed over and planted one on Potter.

Ew. Blaise ran his hand through his hair. What the hell did Malfoy see in Potter? And over _him_? He knew he was good looking. He had had girls fawning over him even back in First Year. His private nature had hated that fawning, and he'd quickly made sure he virtually disappeared the next year. He wasn't an attention-whore like Malfoy, always spitting at his enemies like a wounded cat, and…and…

That was it! Malfoy was always hexing, cursing, and bothering Potter. Like a little boy tugging the braids of his first crush, instead of showing his attraction pleasantly, or through formal Pureblood courting style, Malfoy lashed out at every moment he could. His every insult to Potter was only to hide what he actually felt…

Blaise felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He almost wanted to go puke, too. How could this be? Malfoy liked POTTER? Scrawny, loud, obnoxious, skip-classes, Mudblood-loving, Weasel-buddy Potter? Potter was an idiot! Sure, he had avoided the Dark Lord with a series of lucky moves, but handsome? Witty? Anything at all remotely attractive, powerful, or interesting? He was none of those. He was just a boy, like so many others, except that he was the Boy Who Lived.

Was that it? Malfoy just wanted to be attached to fame? Well he had it now, if he'd ever wanted it, for being the son of a Death Eater. Wasn't that enough? Especially since the fame he had was popular amongst his lot, that of Pureblood superiority and aristocracy. So why in blazing hell would Malfoy desire _Potter_?

He took a deep breath, and acted against his flaring anger and bewilderment. He slid over to Malfoy's still-retching form, and put his hands on the blonde's shoulders. He felt the twitch of discomfort that earned him, but kept his hands there. Then he positioned his hands to gently support Malfoy's head. It made it easier for Malfoy to just puke, and not get a neck crick in the process, or be so close to anything gross.

When Malfoy was done, they cast a couple spells to get clean him and clear his head, and exited the loo. Blaise felt Rosmerta's glare needling them all the way to the door. She didn't like brawls, unlike the Hog's Head's bartender. He stopped at the counter and left their payment. Rosmerta didn't deserve the trouble they'd given. Both of them, even snobby Malfoy, liked Rosmerta. She was difficult not to like.

Blaise murmured, "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes he's more trouble than he's worth…"

Malfoy was leaning against the door frame quite pathetically, and Blaise was relieved that no one but he and Rosmerta could see that. The blonde looked utterly dejected, worse, if it were possible, than he had when he entered the Three Broomsticks. Joy. He was going to be hell to be around in a different way, now. Maybe Blaise could get into his head a little more now…he had little luck of getting anywhere else, like in his pants, what with Potter in the way…

Rosmerta accepted his apology with a quick nod, and Blaise dragged Malfoy away. The sunny day had darkened, and Malfoy seemed to appreciate it, walking a little more briskly. Or was that just because he didn't want to answer Blaise's questions? Well, too bad.

Blaise caught up easily with Malfoy's shorter strides. He said, "So, fire whiskey?" before Malfoy could slip away again.

Malfoy gave a noncommittal grunt. Then, shooting Blaise a look that was half way a glare and halfway some despairing thing, he mumbled, "Thanks. For the drink. Drinks."

Blaise laughed. "You're welcome. Are you going to thank me, also, for depriving you of your wand when you were about to curse Urquhart? I'm sure being kicked off the Quidditch team wouldn't help your mood."

Malfoy whirled around, his face a little pink. "What do you mean, my _mood_?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Please. Everyone in Slytherin can tell you're upset about something. It's stupid to try and hide it. But you can pretend I didn't mention it and go back to sulking over Potter, if you want."

Malfoy was definitely spitting now. "I. Am. NOT. SULKING! Over. POTTER!"

Blaise crossed his arms and glared at Malfoy. He bit back the smirk he felt creeping on him. Malfoy was actually sortof adorable when he was spitting like this. Blaise had rarely gotten to see it first day, having most seen it used from afar on Potter and co.

"Oh? Then what are you sulking over? Pray tell."

Malfoy whirled, clutching his cloak tightly to him, and then tossing it back across one shoulder. He looked very elegant, for a moment, standing in the sun. Shadows of leaves from a tree next to the road dappled his hair – grey, silver, grey, silver – and his mouth was pursed in that kissing away again. Damn. He wore a finely tailored pair of black robes, and his shoes were so shined they glittered.

He tugged the cuffs of his robes in an indecisive manner, and then shot back, "None of your damn business, Zabini. Don't try to be my friend now. Some little shoulder to cry on bitch."

Blaise couldn't help that his words came out sharp, as he followed a speeding Malfoy again. "Right. Because you have no friends, right?"

Malfoy huffed at him in another stupid, blustering, cute way. He growled, "Fuck you. You don't know anything."

Blaise laughed. "Of course. That's what all the mini Death Eaters say to their friends. So, have you been recruited yet?" He put his hand on Malfoy's left arm. Did Malfoy have the Mark?

Malfoy yanked his arm back, but not before Blaise felt the shudder that tore through the blonde's body. He smacked Blaise's hand away and marched steadily up the hill, puffing only a little. Seeker fit. He laughed in response, but the laugh was short and obviously fake.

"Zabini. You know I wouldn't tell you if I did. Again, mind your own business. And I do have friends."

Blaise caught up to Malfoy again. "Who, Parkinson? Those big dolts that follow you, Crabbe and Goyle?"

"No," Malfoy snarled, "Not them. Nott is better than them, and so is Greengrass, Hell, even Bulstrode is better. At least she has the occasional interesting thing to say. And there's quiet old Pucey."

Pucey. Huh. Blaise smirked. "And Snape?"

Malfoy stopped and stared at Blaise, and then turned away. "Snape! Come on. Just because I happen to be excellent at Potions doesn't mean I'm _friends_ with Severus Snape."

Interesting. Blaise had seen Malfoy suck up to Snape for years, and gotten the feeling that they were somewhat comrades, or at least understood each other more than professor and student usually did. Now Malfoy wanted nothing to do with Snape. Why?

Malfoy might not be friends with Snape. "But your father is."

Malfoy shrugged. "Sure. And they were school mates, like us. So?"

Blaise sighed. Malfoy seemed determined to be angry and not let any of his real feelings show. Blaise also hated the callous way he had just been referred to, as if he were just another House mate. He wanted to change that. "You really bank into all that impersonal Pureblood shit, along with a heavy dose of Slytherin pride and selfishness, don't you?"

Malfoy laughed. "Now you sound like a Hufflepuff. Did they sort you into the wrong House, Zabini?"

Another sigh. "No, you idiot. But maybe they did for you. You'd rather be in Gryffindor, with Potter, wouldn't you? Then you could do more kissing and less verbal dueling…or, more dueling - in the bedroom."

He watched carefully for Malfoy's reaction. The blonde's face got that high, bright pink color to it, and he bit his lip, tugging it between his teeth. Then, in typical Malfoy fashion (Blaise had decided now that Malfoy was fully in denial), he ignored almost everything Blaise had said, with, "You're a whore like your mother, Zabini."

Blaise laughed at the lack of originality, and then waited a beat. They took a few more steps towards the castle grounds, and then he swung his arm out, across Malfoy's body, and shoved him back against a tree. They were toe to toe, and nose to nose. Malfoy's arm was positioned awkwardly, twisting over Blaise's left arm to stab Blaise in the ribs with his wand. But Blaise's wand was solidly positioned at Malfoy's throat.

"I might be the son of a homicidal, whoring bitch, Malfoy, but at least I'm good at it. You're not at all convincing, son of a Death Eater; you're a coward, and you can't even do something so small as to admit you have a weakness for your school enemy. But I like you anyway, you stupid fool, and if you swear to my conditions, I won't tell everyone that you kissed Potter."

Yes, it was like that. Forget any attempts at niceties. He knew they could work with Malfoy, but he was angry now, and it was too much effort to try to break Malfoy's walls down.

Malfoy laughed weakly, after a second of evident surprise. "They won't ever believe you," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, they will," Blaise stated, equally coolly, "Don't you remember our Fourth Year? Everyone was in a tizzy about Potter being in the Triwizard Tournament, and they believed all that bullshit Rita Skeeter wrote. They were hanging on her every word. Why, if I gave the information to her, I bet it would make Galleons. And everyone at Hogwarts would talk about it. I know you like attention, Malfoy, but do you want that kind?"

The blonde's face got pale. It was clear that, though he had kissed Potter and thus revealed his little secret, he didn't want the whole school knowing…or, more likely, he wanted to go back to being in denial and treating Potter like the git he was, instead of 'fessing up. Shouldn't Blaise want Malfoy to keep treating Potter badly? But no. Blaise didn't like to footy around. He wanted to set things straight with Malfoy, and then he was going to pursue getting to know his enemy. One couldn't just eliminate Potter, after all. Blaise didn't want to be sent to Azkaban for touching a hair on the precious 'Chosen One's head. Or worse, tortured by the Dark Lord for killing his prey.

Besides, Malfoy was pissing him off. Again. Why couldn't the little weasel just admit he had a thing for Potter? Even better, could he explain it to Blaise?

"You want to keep it quiet, so you can go back to sulking in your corner and treating him like a rag, don't you? Well, I don't mind the rag part, because he is one, but I'm tired of your denial."

He noticed Malfoy bristle when he called Potter a rag. Oho, possessive? Only Malfoy could sully Potter's good name?

"Just shut up and tell me what you want," Malfoy breathed. He looked like he might be panicking just a little inside. Blaise was pleased to discover he could scare Malfoy so easily. He supposed he had his mother's reputation to thank for that. Just by being her offspring, he was deemed dangerous. Dangerous, even though he'd spent most of five years at Hogwarts in the shadows.

Blaise drank in Malfoy's widened eyes and pale, fearful face, before he leaned in. He placed his mouth on Malfoy's gently at first. Instinctively his left hand kept his wand steady at Malfoy's throat, but with his other, he yanked on Malfoy's hair, pulling him up, closer, deeper into the kiss.

He kissed Malfoy hard, hungrily, before slipping his tongue forcefully into Malfoy's mouth. Mmm, it was good. Malfoy did not want to play, but Blaise did, and he tasted Malfoy, and teased his tongue. He moaned, rocking his body against the other boy, scraping his hands down Malfoy's neck and under the neck line of his robes. Malfoy tried to pull away, having lost his grip on his wand, but Blaise was too strong. He could even take Malfoy here if he wanted to, but he wouldn't.

Blaise wanted to be wanted. He wanted to see Malfoy fall off of his high horse, and be dominated. Or really, being dominated by Malfoy would be alright, too, but Malfoy had to burn with desire for him. He just had to.

Malfoy smelled like pine and sea breeze. He did not taste like barf, thankfully, and the way he squirmed when Blaise's fingers touched below his neck line was amusing. When Blaise released him from the kiss, he yanked his head back.

He looked beautiful, flushed, glaring, until he purposefully wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. But Blaise could feel the shaking in his knees, and it wasn't a spell, or that Malfoy was that scared. Blaise knew he was a good kisser.

"That's what you want?" Malfoy spat out disdainfully, as if he hadn't done the same thing to Potter earlier today. Blaise wanted to slap him.

He stabbed his wand harder against Malfoy's throat, and said, "Here's what I want: You, with me, thrice a week, and no more of your idiotic tirade against Potter. You're in denial. It's obvious. If you give some time to me – and it doesn't have to be physical, all the time – and ignore Potter, I won't tell."

Malfoy spat on the ground, as if to emphasize his disgust with Blaise or his kiss. "I'm not whoring my body out to you. This," he smoothed his hands across his chest, an image that Blaise knew would aggravate him later, "is not for sale. I'm a Malfoy, with pure blood running through me, and I would like to honor my body and not defile it with your filth."

He shut up when the tip of Blaise's wand stung his throat. "Watch it," Blaise growled, "I'm just as pure blooded as you. All you're saying is that you're a virgin and you want to save yourself, like some old-fashioned witch, and for bloody Potter of all people. I think that's the stupidest thing I've heard out of you yet…and that's a lot."

Blaise was too busy being angry, he supposed, for Malfoy managed to bend down for his wand in one quick, Seeker move. Before he could lift it higher than his waist, Blaise had his free hand on Malfoy's, crushing against it so he couldn't grip his wand properly. That lasted only a second, though, because Malfoy's hands were small and delicate like a girl's. He slipped his small hand past Blaise's, and with a good grip, shoved his wand against Blaise's chest.

"You have to give me something I want, in return," Malfoy stated, businesslike once more, "Or I'm going to blast you away right now."

There was ice in his tone. Blaise knew that Malfoy meant what he said, and he had seen Malfoy's curses, hexes, and jinxes. When Malfoy wasn't caught off guard – by Potter and his attraction to him, of course, now it made sense he'd been the fool so many times against Potter's gang – he could be fast, and he knew a great array of dark spells. One didn't have Bellatrix Lestrange as one's aunt and learn nothing dark at all. Blaise had heard stories. They couldn't all be lies.

"Fine then," Blaise said, forcing his voice to stay cool. Inside he was angry, though. He'd fucked this up royally and underestimated Malfoy, and now he was in a bind almost as much. "What do you want?"

Malfoy smirked his trademark. "Potter," he whispered, "In the Sixth Year dormitory. Alone. Except for me. October thirty-first, Halloween."

Blaise couldn't help it. He had to say – "What are you going to do to him?" Or with him, but not really, he thought, because Potter would never consent.

He'd asked it because of the look in Malfoy's eyes. It was more than lust. It was trouble.

Malfoy ignored the question again, and said, "Deal? If you can do it, I'll give you a chance. For the entire two months that it will take until Halloween, I'll…let you have a little fun. You can become Pansy's bosom buddy and leer over me with her."

Blaise hated Malfoy, in that instant. He hated that he had been put with Parkinson, for one thing. He hated that, because he was Pureblood Slytherin, he couldn't be honest. Malfoy couldn't handle it, that is. He couldn't tell Malfoy that, actually, he did sortof mean it when he said he liked him (not just in the physical sense, either), when Malfoy wasn't pissing him off. And he felt sorry for Malfoy. It wasn't just lust, though mostly it was, and he could be a better conversationalist than all the other Slytherins combined. Malfoy would never be bored with him. And he couldn't say that, no, he wouldn't mind if the fact that Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban scared Malfoy shitless, which he bet it did, because Malfoy was a daddy's boy.

Instead, he didn't say any of that. He just said, "Deal."

They stalked back to the castle, together but silent. Blaise became lost in ideas of: How to get Potter for Malfoy? If Malfoy wanted to shag him, well, even HE didn't want Potter to get raped, frankly, and if Malfoy wanted to bring Potter to the Dark Lord, well….he would be alright with that, he supposed, since fate seemed to have deemed it inevitable, but…without knowing which, he didn't know what spirit to go after Potter with. Charm and cunning, or anger and cunning? For only anger, he knew, could motivate him to capture Potter for malicious purposes. He could care less about the Dark Lord's regime; and he couldn't stand Potter, at the moment, except in thoughts of dismembering him limb from limb.

Potter, over him. He still couldn't believe it.

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOX_

_DRACO_

_XOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOX_

It was not easy to avoid Harry James Potter when was angry with you. Draco knew this from past experiences, but never had Potter made the point quite as forcefully as he was making it this time.

From dawn until dusk, it seemed, Draco was avoiding Potter. Potter showed up when Draco was in Potions, of course, because they shared the class, but it was easy to ignore him there. Slughorn kept complimenting Potter's potion work so much that it was hard for Potter to keep glaring at Malfoy. Weasley was in the Hospital Wing, apparently, and Draco wondered what in hell Zabini had hit him with.

_He_ hadn't hit Weasley with that spell, so why was Potter going after _him_? Perhaps it was the kiss. Maybe Potter wanted to murder him for that. Whatever reason it was, it forced Draco to move all over the place – excusing himself from lunch when Potter got up from Gryffindor table, dodging Granger and Potter in the library, and such.

Then, for a time, he was free, going to Defense Against the Dark Arts with Ravenclaw. Then he skipped Transfiguration, even though he couldn't really afford to, because he was sick of this.

Surprise, surprise, that Zabini was sitting in the Common Room when Draco showed up. He sat down on the couch with an internal groan. He was furious that he'd been put in this ridiculous deal, but since Zabini didn't have his wand stabbing Draco's throat, maybe he could just ignore it altogether. He could cheat Zabini and not fulfill his end of the deal.

But…he wanted, and needed, Potter. Draco knew that he couldn't get Potter himself. One rejection was enough for him, thanks.

That was where it had all started. All he'd wanted was a friend to talk to, and he hadn't realized that the dark-haired boy at Madam Malkin's was Harry Potter himself. Then on the train, remembering how important it was to his father he make good connections, he'd sought to be friends with Potter. That feeling of duty had driven him to ask for friendship. That and his raging curiosity about the famous Boy Who Lived.

Potter had rejected him, coldly and thoroughly. Draco didn't think he had ever been rejected before that, and never the same way since. There was something eerie about those green eyes and their cold glare. That, and he hated, _hated_ the Weasleys, because of their blood traitor status and everything his father had told him. And Potter was immediately friends with them all! He directed his hatred towards Potter then, too.

And the rest was history. He had wanted to stop, but Draco was never good at stopping. Once he started, he couldn't stop. He couldn't just turn around and start being nice. He had his family and House reputation to think of. He noticed as a boy the way Snape, whom he looked up to, hated Potter, and figured Snape had good reason. He noticed how his father's regard for Potter soured into hatred after Draco's second year. All of this combined served as boosters for his continued antagonizing of Potter and his little friends.

Besides, it was just too much damn _fun_. He loved the way Potter replied with these witty, nasty little comments. It was delicious. Everyone thought the Gryffindor hero was so good and perfect and noble and brave…but he knew how to talk shit about people. And he had passion in him. It made Draco wonder if Potter was dirty in bed and if he liked it rough. He bet Potter could handle it. Potter could handle a lot.

Unlike Weasley. That was another thing. Weasley flared up so easy, it was hilarious. The Mudblood was Draco's least favorite. Her remarks were a little too close for comfort, and she always seemed to up Draco in classes. This made his father seethe, and Draco suffered for it. Damn Mudblood and her brains. Plus, he still stung about that time she'd gotten him at wand point in third year…

"What are you thinking about?"

Draco startled out of his thoughts. Zabini was lying back against the couch, one arm flung over it, looking at Draco. His eyes glittered with curiosity. He made no move to get too close, like he had yesterday, holding up Draco's head while Draco was puking. The puking had only been partly from the drink; most of it, Draco admitted privately to himself, had been nerves because he'd just kissed Potter. And Weasley threw a damn good punch. Zabini had managed to heal his face back to its smooth perfection though.

"What do you think I'm thinking about?" Draco smirked, rolling his neck. His muscles hurt from crunching his body down in quick jolts to hide from Potter, who evidently was skilled at stalking. It must be from that Invisibility Cloak Potter had. He had come so close to finding Draco several times today.

Zabini scowled. "Potter. No wonder you look so pleased. Like a cat who caught the canary. Can you explain to me why it is you like him, at least?"

Draco leaned back in the couch. Why should he tell Zabini? He hadn't told anyone else, not Snape, not Theodore Nott, no one. He didn't want to give them that much of an advantage over him. It was bad enough that Zabini had seen him kiss Potter. But he'd been staring at Potter and just…mmm…the way he'd been practically draped on that chair, with Butter beer haze in his green eyes, and Draco had thought, he deserved something good on this otherwise awful day…

Of course, in typical fashion, it had turned more awful after he'd kissed Potter. And though it was fun dodging Potter, today wasn't much fun, either.

He decided to tease Zabini. "What's not to like? Have you seen him lately? He's almost as tall as Weaselfreak, now, and have you ever seen him up close? He has eyes like none other – except his mother, I've heard. They're a very startling shade of green. You can't look away once he's grabbed you with them. He's very…intense. And he never backs down…and if you really think about it…"

Draco shuddered, "It can't be just luck that's saved him from the Dark Lord all those times. Dumbledore isn't there to always save him, like last year. And he was just a baby once…I wonder, what power lies in him. You know how when you're young, you can feel magic burning in you, acting up, and you know what it is, and it feels so fresh and good…and channeling it feels even better…he's good at channeling it. Resisting the Imperius in Fourth Year. I don't think he got special lessons from Dumbledore or anything. He just…has it. That something."

Draco realized he was rambling and saying way too much. He hadn't meant to at all. It was one of those moments where he wished desperately that he could stop his mouth when it ran off without him. But Merlin, he was engrossed in Potter just now…what that sort of power would be like in bed, and what would normal conversation with Potter be like? What did he think about his having his mother's eyes? Did he dream about having parents? Draco knew what it was like to care for his parents, but he hadn't ever had anyone close to him die…yet.

Zabini groaned, a sound of aggravation, next to him. Draco looked over.

"I knew it," Zabini said. "It's because he's mysterious as fuck. If you actually knew him in person, I bet he'd be really boring. I've seen him and Weasley in their spare time. They play Exploding Snap and Wizarding Chess just like the rest of us. Potter is bad at finishing his homework. He's late to class. He stutters when his Head of House slams him one. He feels sorry for _Longbottom_, for Merlin's sake. He's normal, he just got lucky. He's certainly duller than his Mudblood friend, and the fact that he's smarter than Weasley doesn't prove his worth. You're enamored over a _fantasy_, Malfoy."

Draco crossed his arms, even though he knew it made him look like a stubborn child. "So what if I am. You don't know him either. You're speculating just as much. Besides…I've seen my aunt talk about him. I've seen her with…him. They wouldn't…" He was wheezing now, and could barely continue, "They wouldn't talk like that if he weren't…dangerous. So, so he might skip class and stalk people in his Cloak, but…he's got another side, that's, something else. I want to know all sides of him."

Zabini said nothing at first. When he did speak, his voice was low and quiet. "…You've seen him? The Dark Lord?"

Draco nodded, and swallowed. "Yes. He…visited, once or twice."

Zabini laughed, loudly, and Draco dropped his arms and glared at his House Mate. Zabini had his head thrown back and was laughing and laughing.

"What?" Draco bellowed. "I'm not joking!"

Zabini tried to stop laughing, but couldn't, and then tried again, "I, I know, but…the Dark Lord, making a house call…ringing a door bell…with his snake sitting beside him like an obedient dog…" He gasped, and tried to get a hold of himself.

Draco stared stonily at Zabini. Ugh. Zabini just did not understand. The Dark Lord was real, as real as any of them, and he was powerful. He had visited, and of course it was not a house call, it was an important meeting. He had been accompanied by the snake. Draco had always thought snakes were beautiful, but this one, huge and shining and wetting his father's living room carpet, was…creepy as fuck, simply put. It looked at Draco with eyes that were very alive and aware, and Draco hadn't dared to pet it.

Then the Dark Lord had known his thoughts and given him permission to pet her and call her by her name, Nagini…and because it was the first time he had ever heard the Dark Lord speak in person, fear had squirmed all around inside Draco, and made him feel sick, as he petted the glistening skin of the gigantic snake…and he thought later, when the Dark Lord and his bedamned Legilimency were gone, that he never wanted to pet or see another snake in his life.

Because he would think of that hissing, horrible voice every time he did.

"Earth to Malfoy. What is wrong?"

Draco shivered again, and opened his eyes. "You don't get it," he snarled, and got up from the couch. A hot hand wrapped around his wrist and dragged him back, back to lie against Zabini's body on the couch.

"I don't. Tell me."

Draco shivered, and tried to pull away again. "No." Zabini was firm and good beneath him, another body, but Draco didn't want him; he wanted Potter.

Then a hand was pushing his hair back, up and away from his ear, and a slick, hot tongue slid out and grazed the sensitive shell of his ear. Draco jolted in Zabini's lap, because that reminded him of the snake, too, but then Zabini's tongue was licking up and down his ear, slowly, softly, and then his mouth suckled over his earlobe, and his teeth bit deliciously…Draco tried to hold back his moan, but he couldn't.

Zabini hummed in a sort of satisfied, laughing sound. He kept licking over Draco's ear, harder, faster. His arms were tight against Draco, holding him close. One of his hands began to drift up and down Draco's thigh, up and down, slowly, while his tongue was moving quickly. Now it was on Draco's neck, biting, tasting, while his fingertips played a pattern over Draco's thigh.

Draco tried to slide away, but it was only half-heartedly. He wondered what Zabini would do next. His House Mate was rubbing circles over Draco's chest with one hand, and his mouth was creating a delightful hickey on Draco's shoulder. The other hand was still on his thigh, and Draco wanted and simultaneously did not want it to move inward and upward…

The Slytherin entrance door opened then, and Nott and another student came in. Immediately Draco wriggled out of Zabini's arms and lifted himself up to stand, but not before Nott, an old friend, gave him a suggestive wink. He'd seen what they were doing. Draco scowled back, and grabbing his school bag, marched up to his dormitory.

Damn Zabini and his questions, and his skillful tongue, and damn Potter and how he made Draco talk too much, even when he wasn't present!

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOOXOXXO_

_Review! Please! I want to know what you all think._


	3. Chapter 3

_I am happy you are all enjoying this fic! Thank you so much for the reviews! I am on quite a roll with this fic right now, I think there will be an update soon after this._

_Again, sorry for too much internal dialogue. I hope it doesn't get confusing._

_XOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXO_

PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOOXXO_

**I AM RETITLING THIS FIC'S OVER-USED, CLICHE TITLE. ANY IDEAS?**

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_XOXOXXOOXOXOXOXXOXO_

_Chapter 3_

_XXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

HARRY

Harry was angry. He was angry at Malfoy for kissing him, he was angry at Zabini for hurting Ron, and he was angry at himself for not yet being able to get Slughorn's memory.

It only made him angrier when Malfoy kept avoiding him. Why couldn't the bloke have avoided him for the last five years, instead of being a nuisance? Harry wasn't sure quite what he wanted to do when he found Malfoy – throttle him for adding another mess of confusion on his plate, or kiss him with fervor to show Malfoy how much he hated him and…and…

Merlin.

Harry decided to take a leaf from Malfoy's book and avoid the problem. It had been a few days since that kiss. He snapped at Ron and Hermione at dinner, which made Ron leave early. Then Hermione said she was worried about Harry, which forced a shoddy, quick apology out of him for being an arse.

He excused himself to the library to practice that damn Transfiguration homework. It was something he should know already, having done animal transfiguration on his O.W.L. last year, but this was more difficult. He had to transform an item not once, but four times, in quick succession.

Most of the homework was practicing the transfiguration so he could show McGonagall tomorrow. He was supposed to transfigure a piece of wire into a snake, and the snake into a bird, and then back down from bird, to snake, to wire. He also had to mull over Slughorn and finish a paper for Astronomy.

By the time it was midnight, Harry thought his head might explode. He'd gotten nowhere on Slughorn, and he had stuffed his head with so many star charts he thought he could recite the entirety of _Ally Algert's Astronomy Analyses_. Constellations and planets whirled through his brain, and he finally sat back with a sigh. He stared at the piece of wire in front of him.

It was funny that they had to transfigure the wire into a snake, because Harry was quite well-acquainted with snakes by now. From the time he was a boy speaking to the garden snakes, to the basilisk and the duel with Malfoy in Second Year, to now, where Voldemort's snake Nagini had already haunted his consciousness, Harry had had quite enough of snakes by now, thank-you-very-much.

So why was it so bloody difficult to turn a bit of wire into one? He tried a few times, and only got the thing to wiggle and rattle. He tried aiming for a rattlesnake then, and he bent down to concentrate, pointing his wand at the bit of wire.

It started to tremble the more he stared at it and a little puff of smoke leaked out of one end. Red sparks shot from his wand, but that was it.

"McGonagall's Transfiguration homework? I've already finished that. Don't let Pince see that smoke, or she'll shriek at us both."

A long-fingered, dark hand clamped over the smoky end of Harry's bit of wire, and a wand tapped the wire to extinguish it. Harry's bit of wire stopped trembling.

Harry blinked and looked up reluctantly. He already knew who it was, and he wasn't ready to deal with the maelstrom of things that came up in him when he looked. Zabini. He stared up at those dark eyes, and his first feeling was anger, because Zabini had put Ron in the hospital for a half a day. At the same time, he felt his stomach get queasy, because Zabini was so close.

The dark-haired Slytherin had abandoned his robes for a tight, black sweater that molded over his torso nicely. His hair was unkempt and frizzing about his head in a manner that made Harry think he might have just woken up…or had sex…or…well, nothing else, because those two were bothersome enough. One made Harry wonder if sleep erased the requisite Slytherin coldness from Zabini's face, and the other made Harry think of what Zabini would look like naked…

He swallowed, as the Slytherin began to smirk at Harry's staring. Harry pushed Zabini's hand away from the wire and said bitingly, "If you've already done it, then leave me alone to finish."

Zabini, still smirking, sat back on the chair across from Harry, instead. Harry tried to ignore him, and leaned forward again to concentrate on his task.

_Snake, snake, snake_, he thought, and imagined the wire wriggling, coiling, and then lifting its head. He imagined a diamond pattern on its back, and a licking, forked tongue…he imagined Zabini leaning over the table and kissing him, plunging his tongue into Harry's mouth, touching Harry with his long-fingered hands…

Harry bit back a curse and sat back in his chair. He felt too nervous, with Zabini just staring at him, to be as angry.

Zabini was smirking even more now, and Harry wanted that smirk to disappear. He didn't like feeling foolish in front of Zabini. It was just as bad as those times he had stuttered at Cedric, except worse, because Zabini was a Slytherin and Malfoy's friend. And hot as fuck. He put his boots on the table now, and Harry resisted the urge to drink in the completed sight of Zabini's long body stretched in front of him.

His gaze caught onto the Slytherin badge Zabini wore pinned to the jacket he had slung over one shoulder. He stared at the snake depicted there, and it took only a moment for him to see it moving, shaking out of its S shape, trying to crawl from the confines of the badge…

"_Wonder what it's like being stuck to him all the time. You would be better off in my dorms,_ _with me to talk to," _Harry hissed at the snake S in Parseltongue.

It was worth it for the way that Zabini jumped in his chair. His smirk was gone now. Harry laughed and found himself still smiling as Zabini looked at him. But Zabini wasn't glaring, he seemed rather to be studying Harry; his expression reminded Harry of the look on Hermione's face when she was trying to get him to tell the truth about how much homework he'd completed.

"How long have you been able to do that?" Zabini asked.

Harry shrugged, still laughing a little. "Since I was small."

He thought to himself that, in a way, it was actually a relief to talk to a Slytherin and not have every word of the conversation be scathing. If this were Malfoy, ten snarky remarks would have been traded already. He liked that Zabini seemed to live beyond putting other Houses' students down. So far. This was the first conversation he'd really had with Zabini at all.

"Hmm." Zabini settled back in his chair. "And what did you say?"

Harry tilted his head, deciding whether to tell Zabini. "I told the snake on your badge that he'd be less lonely in the Gryffindor dorms." Then he flushed, because it sounded so stupid. The snake on Zabini's badge wasn't real! Why did he have to say 'he', too?

Zabini gave an amused smile. It wasn't the same as the condescending smirk. He was even more handsome when he was smiling genuinely. Harry wondered suddenly if Malfoy ever smiled like that. Damnit. He stopped staring and looked down at the table determinedly.

Zabini sensed his embarrassment, but instead of teasing, he said, "Potter, you think you're better company than me? If I could talk to snakes, I would have one for a pet. But owls are much more useful. Why didn't you get a snake?"

Harry didn't know why he was giving more honest answers to a Slytherin, but it came out of him. "My friend Hagrid got my owl for me, as a birthday present."

"That half giant? Well, you didn't know he was half-giant then, I suppose. Although anyone would suspect."

"Does it really matter?" Harry said coldly.

Zabini wasn't put off by Harry's tone. Instead, he leaned forward, and for a moment he was just giving Harry that thoughtful look again. It made Harry's insides squirm. He looked back at the table, and then tried to concentrate on transfiguring the wire again.

Zabini interrupted again. "Here's what I don't get, Potter. If you don't care that the Hogwarts gameskeeper, Hagrid, had a giant for a parent, why care that Malfoy has a Death Eater for a father? A child isn't a carbon copy of their parents. Even if they're brought up a certain way, they can certainly rebel against the grain."

Harry's answer came fast and hot. "Lucius Malfoy is a murderer, and personally grovels at Voldemort's feet. Voldemort, as you may know, has killed and tortured countless people, including my parents, so anyone that's good in his book is bad in mine. Plus, Malfoy's just like his father – a cowardly, groveling little Dark Arts worshipper. I bet he's just dying to be a Death Eater."

"Hmph." Zabini sat back in his chair and looked at Harry through half-closed eyes. "You judge awfully fast, don't you, Potter? Can't someone be not all that they seem?"

Harry licked his lips. He knew that Zabini was trying to say he was wrong, that Malfoy could be good, but to say that of Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort…well, he had seen in his private lessons with Dumbledore already, that Voldemort had had dark ideas from the very start. He would eat his badge if Lucius Malfoy had been a darling little angel as a child, and having known Malfoy since age eleven, and never seen anything to prove Zabini's little theory…well.

Still, Zabini had a point, of course. Harry remembered when he and Ron had thought Hermione was a prissy snob, when actually she'd turned out to be a smart, soft-hearted person and a very good friend indeed. His own father actually supported Zabini's point, because of James having tortured Snape during their school years together. It bothered Harry that his father proved Zabini's point, in a bad way. But it was true, and he'd rather have the truth than anything else. So…Zabini wasn't wrong, but…Malfoy, nice?

"I'm sorry, but from what I've seen of Malfoy, he's a git, through and through."

_Even if he does kiss well_. The thought popped into Harry before he could stop it, and a flush poured into his face.

Perhaps Zabini secretly knew Legilimency, because he watched Harry's blush and said, "A git who can kiss like sin himself, I'm guessing, by the look on your face. Changed your mind about him, Potter?"

The smile on his face was near laughter, but there was something else burning in Zabini's eyes that Harry didn't understand. Slytherins. Argh. Slytherins being attractive. Even more argh. And no one to talk to about it!

Harry growled and gripped his wand tighter in his hand. "Now look, you, don't go making assumptions. I've been meaning to get back at Malfoy for that trick. Besides, he was drunk on fire whiskey," Harry added.

Zabini rolled his eyes, saying, "Potter, you have the observational skills of a troll. Yes he was drunk on fire whiskey, but I don't think even that would make him want to kiss _you_," Zabini blanched. "Why are you going after him?" He leaned forward. "I'm right here. I'm the one who hurt Weasley."

It made sense, but Harry went with his instinct. "Malfoy started it."

Zabini wouldn't take that answer, it seemed. "And I ended it."

Harry sighed. "Look, what do you want?"

The Slytherin only smirked in that infuriating way again. "I want to see you transfigure that wire. Go."

Harry grumbled at that evasive answer, telling his stupid, pounding heart to shut up, that Zabini was only here to harass him on Malfoy's behalf, and plus, Zabini had sounded like he wouldn't pick Harry if Harry were the last man on earth, and Zabini wasn't necessarily into blokes…

Harry shoved it all from his mind, and remembered the snake that had leapt out of Malfoy's wand in second year. It had been a long, black snake, and he remembered the way it had coiled to strike Justin Finch-Fletchley before he had told it to leave Justin alone…its smooth body glittered in the light, and its fangs were sharp and curved…

And like that, there was a snake before him on the table. It directed its head towards Harry, and Harry said, "Sorry," before he transfigured it into a bird.

Immediately the raven squawked, and was about to leap off the table into the air. Harry lunged forward to grab it, swearing as his body smacked into the table painfully. Zabini was laughing at him, and beyond the pecking, dangerous beak of the bird, Harry saw a slender white-haired figure disappear into the Restricted Section. He didn't have to see the Slytherin badge to know who it was. He could recognize Malfoy easily after years.

What was Malfoy doing in the Restricted Section? It wasn't banned to Sixth Year students, but nevertheless, Harry wondered.

Harry hugged the raven close to his chest, and tried petting it, but only got stabbed in the palm for his effort to calm it. "Ouch! Bloody bird!"

He waved his wand at it, trying to think snake again, but it took one look at his wand and squawked loudly in protest.

"Potter-" Zabini sounded exasperated. He smacked away Harry's wounded hand when Harry started to try and pet the birdagain, and slipped his hands over Harry's, and under. Taking the bird from Harry, he planted it on the table with one hand, and said, "_Petrificus Totalus._"

The bird went rigid and fell over with a smack. Harry could hear Hermione protesting about animal cruelty in his head. Half-laughing and half perturbed, he sighed with a great whoosh. Shoving hair out of his face, he pointed his wand at the raven and transfigured it back into a snake. It was so much easier when it was still and quiet.

The spell for the wire was more difficult, and Zabini having helped seemed to make Harry's insides flutter, but because Harry was flustered and tired at this point, he spat the spell, and the snake became a wire.

"Again."

Harry groaned at Zabini's encouraging gesture. "Again? Sod off, you're not my professor."

"McGonagall's your head of House. If you disappoint her, Gryffindor could lose points."

Harry glared at Zabini. "You just want to harass me. Malfoy number two."

He wondered again why Malfoy was in the Restricted Section. He also thought of how soft Zabini's hands had been, and warm, over his. And he wondered, too, if Zabini's thing about children not following in their parents' footsteps was a hint. Was Zabini trying to say he wasn't a cold, murdering charmer like his mother? The charm part was impossible to cover up…because Zabini charmed by looks alone. He didn't even have to open his mouth. Although his voice was good, low, smooth, and Harry wouldn't mind knowing what that mouth could do…

He swallowed hard, and ran his hands through his hair in attempt to calm it. He did not look at Zabini, who was probably staring at him again. Why? And Malfoy's kiss – why? Slytherins didn't seem to know how to be straightforward and clear. Why would Malfoy kiss Harry unless he was drunk? He would never kiss Harry if he were sober…

Just sitting by Zabini, Harry was in danger of getting hard. It seemed his mind couldn't control itself around the beautiful dark boy. And he couldn't stop thinking of Malfoy kissing him. He had to leave. Perhaps fighting Malfoy would help his mind stop thinking about that kiss. So Harry began packing his stuff in his bag, quick, haphazard, and stuffed the wire into a pocket of his trousers, beneath his robes.

Zabini got up and stretched. Harry caught a flash of the dark skin between Zabini's shirt and his trousers. He could see the dark trail of hair that went down from Zabini's navel into his trousers…Harry licked his lips and hurriedly looked away. Damn his stupid eyes for looking every time. He would have to stop wearing glasses around Zabini, at this rate.

They parted ways silently, Zabini one way, Harry another. So he was a little surprised when he found Zabini with Malfoy moments later.

The two Slytherins were at the very end of a shelf of Restricted books. Zabini was leaned up against the shelf with confidence and sexuality just oozing off of him. It seemed to ooze into Harry, mushing his brain, for from his spot behind a shelf he just stared for a moment. His eyes took in everything. He couldn't help it, he told himself. The Slytherin wore expensive dragon hide boots, and thank god for trousers, because Harry could drink in long legs, the v of his crotch (if only the pants were tighter), and there was the tight shirt, and Zabini was curling strands of hair around one long, ringed finger…

Malfoy was sitting on the floor, and his hair was messy as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked a little frenzied, and a pile of books lay on either side of him. Carefully, he took another off the shelf, and opened it. When it didn't do anything, he sighed in relief. He glared at Zabini when Zabini laughed over his anxiety.

Harry watched the two, and wondered: Why was Zabini sticking up for Malfoy all of a sudden? Chumming up to him? And why was Malfoy okay with it? He had seemed pretty picky about his company before now. Zabini had never been part of his group.

He moved closer, and then decided, if he was going to sneak, why not sneak properly?

He dug the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, glad he'd thought he'd need it for staying extra late in the library today, and whipped it over himself. He walked closer. Now he was standing near to Malfoy, and could stare right into Zabini's face.

They were talking about him in low voices.

"It was the first time I'd heard him speak Parseltongue before. Honestly, I thought it was…kindof hot."

Zabini was looking at Malfoy, who was glaring back. "Hot? Zabini, you really are a whore. Help me carry these books."

Zabini didn't move. "Carry your own books. Or spell them. I'm not your Crabbe and Goyle. Haven't you heard him speak Parseltongue before?"

Malfoy stood up, and floated the books. Harry followed as they walked away, to a table, and Malfoy sat down.

"No," he snapped, "Not since Second Year. And it was…not pleasant, back then. It still isn't. The only person I've heard speak it recently is…" he waved his hand.

Zabini pulled a chair next to Malfoy, and slid into it. "Hmm. Yeah, that's not hot, no matter how you look at it."

He laughed, but Malfoy didn't.

Harry was churning. The only other person he knew who could speak Parseltongue was Voldemort. If Malfoy had heard Voldemort speak Parseltongue, then maybe Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor. He should tell Dumbledore. The fact that Malfoy wasn't gloating over having met Voldemort surprised Harry, as did the idea that Parseltongue could stimulate Zabini sexually.

He had a sudden image of himself on his four-poster bed with a shirtless Zabini, playing with Zabini's hair while speaking Parseltongue, and seeing Zabini get aroused, and then he'd give Harry a very tell-tale, hungry kiss…

He stifled a moan by shoving his knuckles against his teeth. It was his left hand, which was bleeding and stinging from the raven having pecked it earlier. But if he healed it now, they would hear him. He was standing right in front of them, across the table.

Malfoy was making notes from a book, and Zabini, in that creepy way he had that also made Harry's brain a little mushy, was just watching Malfoy.

Suddenly the larger Slytherin laid his hand over Malfoy's, and in the same movement he put an arm around Malfoy's waist and dragged Malfoy onto his lap. Harry goggled, while Malfoy whined something about being manhandled. Then Zabini had turned Malfoy in his lap and was kissing him, in the very way that Harry had just imagined him kissing Harry…

His kiss seemed like he wanted to devour Malfoy. It involved his tongue in Malfoy's mouth, and it was noisy, in a way which made Harry want to laugh, but there was the way he groaned while doing it that made Harry's trousers instantly tight. Malfoy had resisted, but then he was kissing Zabini back equally hard, and he had buried his hands in Zabini's mass of hair, and moved to straddle Zabini's lap. They looked like them might upset the chair at any moment. Zabini had his hands around Malfoy's waist, and he seemed to wish for more skin to touch, because his hands swept up Malfoy's back to press at his neck.

Jealousy sidled its way into Harry, so that he had to gnaw his fist with his teeth to stop from leaning over the table and yanking Malfoy off of Zabini. He knew he had no chance with Zabini, but none of this made sense, anyway, him having a thing for Zabini. Why couldn't the world tilt on its head according to his ideas?

He felt somewhat better when the two boys stopped kissing. Plus, Malfoy promptly slid off of Zabini and pushed him, hard enough that the chair fell and Zabini fell with it, swearing. What? Zabini caught on to whatever that meant awfully fast, for in a moment he was sitting once more, and purred, "You know you like it. I can tell."

Malfoy was flushed, and his hair was the messiest Harry had seen it. He scratched his quill ferociously on the parchment he was practically nose-to-nose with, and bit out, "Sod off, Zabini. I'm only stealing your techniques." He smirked to himself.

Zabini scowled, and growled something which might have had Harry's surname in it. Harry felt the blood rush from his face. This was about that kiss Malfoy had given him, wasn't it? Zabini had been the only one to see it, after all, besides Hermione and Ron, and he evidently had an attraction for Malfoy. Was that the look Harry had seen in his eyes when the kiss had been brought up? Jealousy?

Harry slipped out of the library, feeling like his head was on backwards. Why did this sort of thing always happen to him? Couldn't he just have some humdrum life where he killed Voldemort easily, fell in love with Ginny Weasley, and got married? No, instead, he had this sick crush on a strange and handsome Slytherin, who was all over his school nemesis. Said school nemesis might have a thing for Harry…but he had sure seemed to enjoy Zabini's kissig him…

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, and the only thing good about it was that his dreams were not of Voldemort. They involved people much more confusing and handsome. Harry wasn't sure, when he woke up sweaty and hard in the middle of the night, if this was good or bad. At least Voldemort he could feel solid hate for, instead of this confusing mish-mash of things that he felt for the two Slytherins…and it wasn't just physical curiosity either, after his talk with Zabini.

And there was no one to talk to about it, either. Harry lay back, and started to list off famous Quidditch players in his head, trying not to think about one blonde Seeker…

_XOXOOXOXXOXOOXOXOXOXOX_

_DRACO_

_XOXOOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXX_

It turned out that avoiding Severus Snape was easier than avoiding Potter. Draco didn't show up for two detentions in a row, knowing Snape's true motives, and Snape didn't mention it whatsoever.

He knew the Potions Master (he would never be the DADA Professor in Draco's mind) would catch onto him soon, though. After researching for hours in the Restricted Section two nights ago, he'd spent Thursday in a bit of a daze. Perhaps Snape could see that and mercifully left him alone. Perhaps that was why he was letting Blaise Zabini get to him, and why Zabini was so easily insinuating himself into Draco's group of friends.

What had started as a deal, and a few secretly enjoyable snogs with the handsome dark Slytherin, was turning complicated. It made Draco angry, and he had already lashed out at Zabini twice in one day, only to have the other Slytherin keep his cool exterior. It seemed that as long as Zabini wasn't being held at wandpoint, he was as cool as a cucumber.

That infuriated Draco even more.

At least Zabini was absent for the moment. Pansy, too. She had been whining at him earlier about him not spending enough time with her, and Draco had promptly marched up to his dormitory, figuring that completing late Transfiguration homework was better than listening to that.

He growled when a familiar spindly figure tipped itself into his bed, and smiled at him.

"Nott! Get out!"

His friend grinned at him, and purposely wrinkled the page of text that Draco was glaring at. "No. Talk to me. I'm bored."

Draco wanted to hex Nott severely, but he didn't want another detention with Snape – or anything to do with Snape at all, at the moment. So he resisted that urge and threw his textbook across the room, instead. "I don't care if you're bored! Sod off!"

Nott turned over onto his back, still smiling at Draco. "No. Talk to me. How's the old man? Still kicking it in Azkaban? And your mother?"

Draco sighed, and flopped back onto the bed. He couldn't talk to Nott about his task for Voldemort, but he could talk to Nott about almost everything else. With his admirers gone, maybe he should take advantage of this time.

But, he was sick of people trying to figure him out at the moment, because everything inside him that he could see and no one else could, was jumbled.

"Will you stop looking at me, Nott? Go find something to do."

"No. Tell me about Zabini. Is he a good kisser? I never thought you were into him."

Draco scowled up at the green of his four-poster curtains. "I'm not. But…" Draco ran his hands through his hair, and laughed at his own stupid situation and confusion. "He _is_ a good kisser. He…" Draco shut his eyes, remembering. "He's stubborn, and won't take no for an answer…and he's good with his tongue…and, I must say he has good taste, to choose me. But we're not together or anything. We're just…"

"Using each other. What does he want? And what are you getting out of it, besides some more attention? You haven't even wanted attention lately. You've been quiet. And what's with all those trips to the library, and the walks alone?"

Draco pushed his thumbs against his eyes, grumbling. He wasn't going to tell, because frankly, it was no one's business. And that included Snape. Snape was trying to find out what Draco's task for the Dark Lord was, suspected it, even, and Draco would bet it wasn't just because his mother had forced the Unbreakable Vow on Snape. Snape wanted to steal Draco's glory. And maybe he even knew what Draco's task was…and wanted to do it himself…or he knew of the dread that it brought swooping down into Draco if he thought about it too much…

He took a deep, shaky breath, and tried not to think of Potter's luminous eyes, or Voldemort's gleeful laugh when he gave Draco his assignment, and the way he'd dreamt of them as one person, once, speaking Parseltongue to him in a voice that simultaneously revolted and attracted him…

"Please just leave me alone," Draco ground out. "I can't stand it."

"Can't stand what?"

"Everything!" Draco sat up, and glared at Nott. "Everything, alright? So just leave!" He grabbed his wand, but now Nott was backing away.

"Alright, alright, Draco. I'll go. Merlin. Maybe snogging Zabini is just your way of letting off some steam, eh? Keep at it, if it helps. You need it."

He then slammed the door shut behind him before Draco could hex him.

Draco stood up, and he desperately wanted to start breaking and smashing things. But that would only bring Snape down on him. So he took a deep breath, and decided to go to dinner, instead. Eating would help. Then, he would go to the Room of Requirement, and see if he got any leeway in his plan.

It all went south, though. The moment Draco was done eating, a familiar greasy git appeared in front of him and ordered, "Come with me."

Sighing, Draco got up and followed his Head of House down into Snape's office. The man gestured that Draco sit, and when Draco remained standing, he curled his hand around his wand, and Draco was pushed back into the chair with a spell.

Shit. Snape was usually more courteous than that, with Draco. He must be angry, then.

"Draco. How are you today?"

Draco glared sullenly down at the stone of Snape's office, and refused to answer. He wasn't going to let Snape get any information from him, and he wasn't going to be soft just because the man was his godfather and now sworn to protect him. It had taken him weeks to forgive his mother for putting the Unbreakable Vow on Snape – he could take care of himself! – and he remained bitter about it.

"Draco, if you don't respond, how am I supposed to help you. I swore to your mother I w-"

"I don't care what you swore!" Draco bellowed. "I'm my own man, I've been trusted by him, and you have no option but to trust me, too. Even if my father is in disgrace, and you are honored, it doesn't give you the right to coddle me."

Snape leaned closer in his chair, and sent a baleful, dark glare that needled Draco and forced Draco not to look away. The man could be like that, without any spells, it was a power that Draco wished he had, and hated to see in others. Potter had that, too, but in a lighter sort of way – that magnetic thing in his eyes that kept drawing Draco back…

"You are only sixteen years old, Draco. A little bit of help is not unwarranted. I am not trying to get in the way; I am trying to ensure that you get the task done. I know that, however your public claims may seem, this task may be difficult to bear-"

"It isn't," Draco snapped. Apparently Snape knew what his task for Voldemort was. He tried to look away from the Potions Master, but Snape slammed his hands down on the table as he stood up, effectively capturing his attention. Snape was dangerous, Draco knew, for what other kind of man would Voldemort trust so thoroughly?

"MALFOY! I will not stand any more of this childish namby-pambying! You will tell me what your plan is to execute your task successfully, or I will forcibly discover it!"

Before the words were completely out of Snape's mouth, Draco felt that familiar sensation. It was cold, but somehow felt similar to the burning in his dreams. Invasive. Unstoppable. It was not physical pain, though. Rather, it felt like some gigantic, terrible force was slipping around in his mind, sifting through his memories and thoughts like a hand through a bowl of seeds…

Potter flashed in his mind, surprised in the moment that Draco had kissed him, then there was Zabini, laughing at Draco's mention of Voldemort's visit, and then he saw Lucius, broken, pathetic Lucius, as he appeared in a photo the Daily Prophet had published next to an article about his arrest…

"NO! GET OUT! I WON'T LET YOU IN MY MIND!"

Draco shut his mind firmly in one quick move, and a shot of fire burst from his wand and almost hit the Potions Master, but Snape shielded himself from it and stopped the spell.

Snape's voice was low and clipped. "I see. Aunty Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency. How was that arranged? Was it because she owed you after crucio-ing you, or because you whined about the Dark Lord using Legilimency on you when he visited?"

"She's my aunt," Draco growled, "and she can do whatever she wants. The Dark Lord gives her some amount of freedom, as you yourself get to enjoy here at Hogwarts. I suppose it is too much to ask that my blood relation to her, as her nephew, be acknowledged, and given some respect."

An ugly grin appeared on Snape's face. "You won't get any respect until you earn it, Draco."

Draco wasn't going to listen to this tripe anymore. He tucked his wand back into his robes, and turned his back on Snape. He shoved the door open, and was surprised when a resounding "OW!" echoed in the corridor. Who had he hit?

He poked his head around the doorway, wand held out. Potter lay sprawled out on the floor, holding his hand to his head and cringing. Draco scowled. Potter was the last person he wanted to see right now. He was still trying to uphold his promise to Zabini about avoiding the Boy Who Lived, or to at least look like he was. It was in fact going to be impossible at a certain point, because of his task for the Dark Lord…but for now, Potter was better off enjoying himself…before everything went to hell…

And it already was hell, for Draco. After all, through time and circumstance, he had grown overly fond of the stupid, noble Gryffindor, and now he was all wound up in too much – the urge to protect his father from the Dark Lord, and all the lessons of his youth, battled with a secret affection and lust for Potter that he constantly bottled within.

Until that damned kiss. Potter hadn't even kissed back. But he still wondered dreamily during History of Magic what it would feel like if Potter did…

"Scar hurting, Potter?" Draco drawled.

Potter had gotten up off the floor and was staring at Draco with a mix of hatred and confusion. "No," he spat "you hit me with the door."

Snape appeared behind Draco and said, "Potter. You're late."

Draco stepped aside begrudgingly as Potter walked into the office, and was about to walk away when Snape grabbed his collar roughly and yanked him back into the office.

"A moment of your time, Draco. We are trying to find out if Potter's limited intelligence can be honed and used for his protection. Come here."

"Get off me!" Draco shook Snape's hand off of him and turned around. He was standing in front of Snape's desk again, and Potter was sitting on the chair to his left. When Potter saw him standing, he got up, too, as if to say he was just as strong, or just as defiant.

Draco wondered what Potter was thinking. Would he like to murder Draco for the kiss, still? Had he mentioned it to Blaise? (He couldn't believe he had just called that trickster Blaise, but there it was). Why had he looked confused when Draco saw him in the corridor?

Damn Gryffindor. Just damn him. He looked good when he was angry, his green glare bouncing from Snape to Draco, and burning extra hot for Snape today. Draco wondered why. Perhaps because Draco had been brought into it all. Wasn't Potter in here for Remedial Potions?

Instead of setting out any potions materials, Snape leaned forward and pressed his hands against his desk. "Draco. I know that you have learned the art of Occlumency well. Currently I am trying to teach this fine art to Potter. His mind is like a sieve, unable to hold anything in. Perhaps you could school him further."

Draco blanched; his heart pounded. What was Snape saying? He, teach Potter Occlumency? He didn't know how, first of all. And he hated the way his hands were getting sweaty at the thought of being in repeated close contact with Potter…watching that messy head of hair turn, that beautiful glare, the turn of the full mouth….for every day? Until Potter learned it? Merlin's balls, he wasn't sure if he wanted to shout in anger or in joy.

_XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXO_

_More soon! Please keep reviewing...I love them. And it helps me to know if this fic is going well, or just madness from my mind...oh, and -_

_I am retitling this fic. Any ideas for a new title?  
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	4. Chapter 4

_Apologies if I've been a review whore towards anyone. I clicked "send" too many times, I think. I am happy with this chapter. Relations between all 3 develop. =)  
><em>

_XOXXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

**PROMPTS:**

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX_

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

by The Ultimate Otaku

_Chapter 4_

_DRACO_

_XOXOOXOOXOXOXOXXOOXOX_

_Draco blanched; his heart pounded. What was Snape saying? He, teach Potter Occlumency? He didn't know how, first of all. And he hated the way his hands were getting sweaty at the thought of being in repeated close contact with Potter…watching that messy head of hair turn, that beautiful glare, the turn of the full mouth….for every day? Until Potter learned it? Merlin's balls, he wasn't sure if he wanted to shout in anger or in joy._

He knew he looked stupid just gawping, but Potter saved him from humiliation. Whipping his wand out, he shouted at Snape, "Wait a bloody minute! I'm not learning from Malfoy! You're better than him at it, Dumbledore said you're expert, and besides, the only reason I haven't learned is because you haven't told me what to do! You just attack me! Just like last year. I don't know why Dumbledore made us try it again, but I'll tell him to just quit it."

Snape sneered at Potter. "Quitting already, Potter? I thought the Chosen One couldn't quit. In fact, you can't, unless you get Dumbledore's permission. I doubt he'll listen to you though, Potter, because we need you to block the Dark Lord from your mind."

Horror shot into Draco's guts and he swallowed back bile. The Dark Lord was in Potter's head? He could hear Potter's thoughts all the time? Or could Potter hear his? Merlin…A twisting, ugly feeling was winding all through Draco's limbs, burning in his belly, and he felt himself shaking. When Snape looked at him though, he pulled himself together. He didn't want Snape to see that he was, in fact, terrified of the Dark Lord; because then Snape would butt in, and wreck everything…

He wasn't sure if by 'wrecking' he meant, Snape would take Draco's task from him, or that Snape would force Draco to do his task. Both doing it and not doing it held dread for Draco.

"Draco. I am going to cast Legilimens on you, so Potter can observe. Then I want you to give Potter tips on how he can block Legilimency."

Without further ado, those black fathomless eyes were staring at Draco. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, as Snape hissed, "_Legilimens!_"

He was a young boy, riding around on his broom through the Quidditch pitch his father had had built for his fifth birthday…he was eleven, and addressing a dark-haired boy with glasses and shocking green eyes in Madam Malkin's…he was watching his mother cry, secretly, after his father was taken away…he was alone on his bed, and woke up tangled in his sheets, green, green eyes emblazoned in his mind…

"STOP."

He shook his head, and Snape was out of his mind. The Potions Master was glaring at him. "That was a sorry excuse for Occlumency, Draco. I thought Bellatrix had taught you better than that."

At the mention of Bellatrix, Potter was seething. Why? Draco hadn't seen him quite so angry before. It was a quiet sort of anger though, kept to itself, and one could not see it just by looking at his body; it stormed in his eyes. And Draco didn't think someone who didn't watch Potter as much as he did would see it. Deep within was grief and pain in with the anger. It took Draco one second to catch it all, to sense it, and it was like a sweeping blow to his stomach. He could relate to that sadness and anger.

He stared back at Snape, and then shut his eyes and took a deep breath again. He shoved Potter out of his mind, and imagined a white wall in front of him. With each inhale, he imagined that white wall growing, until he was surrounded by four walls. With each exhale, he left behind his emotions – anger, curiosity, sadness, frustration, everything that was whirling in his mind right now.

He imagined that he was staring out at the lake from his Common Room. This always calmed him. Taking that feeling deep inside himself, he filled himself up with it. He pictured the lake, and focused on it, letting the undulating underwater plants, the flash of mermaid hair, the curious fish, watch him and be watched, for a moment.

"I'm ready, Professor," he breathed quietly. "Go again."

This time, when Snape said the spell, Draco felt that pressing sensation in his mind, but it could not get through. It could not see anything. He was watching the waters of the lake, he was surrounded by white light, and he was breathing, in and out, in and out…

Snape withdrew. Draco felt it, and opened his eyes. Now the Potions Master was looking at him with approval. It was hard to read on Snape, but it was there. Draco smiled to himself.

"Now teach Potter how to do that."

Draco cleared his throat, hating that he was felt a tad nervous, and turned slightly towards Potter. "Now, sir?"

Snape was nodding. "Now. And more, if we must. It may take the two of us to get through the cotton in his skull."

Potter's glare burned at both of them, and he said quietly, "I'm going to speak to Dumbledore about this."

Snape sneered. Turning towards Potter reluctantly, Draco asked, "What do you usually do when you try to block Professor Snape?"

He was surprised that such a normal question popped out of his mouth, and it wasn't snarky. But he felt a little of the calm left from the Occlumency, and the satisfaction that came from having that power. Especially because Potter didn't have it. Why did he have to teach this to Potter? He finally had something Potter didn't. But he remembered the hissing voice of the Dark Lord, and while it was bad enough having it in his nightmares, he couldn't imagine actually seeing into the Dark Lord's mind…or having the Dark Lord looking into his again and again.

He had to admit it: he did not want Potter to be subjected to the horrors of the Dark Lord, no matter what he may have said.

But… then why was he currently creating a plan to kidnap Potter and bring him personally to the Dark Lord? Merlin, his head was messed up. He would like to blame his father and mother for that, and Voldemort, who had given him no choice. He loved his parents, woe as he was to say so, and in order to save them from certain death, he had to give Potter to Voldemort.

Potter had opened his mouth stupidly at Draco's question, and now he closed it, and his brow furrowed in thought. "Well, usually I try to fling up some sort of mental shield – but it's like trying to cast a non-verbal spell. Nothing happens. I just get…attacked." He glared at Snape.

Draco nodded. "Okay. What's your mindset before he casts the spell? Right before?"

Potter bit his lip, and then said reluctantly, "Anger." He knew it was the wrong answer.

Draco smirked. "Anger. Of course. Well, Potter, anger doesn't work for Occlumency. It's better used for the Cruciatus Curse. What you need is calm, or even utter blankness, to make your mind a proper fortress to stick behind. It's a little like using an unlocking spell, like _alohomora_, except instead of forcing something open, you're forcing it closed. It takes a lot of will power. I saw you resist Imperius. Why not this?"

Potter gaped. Snape looked bemused. It felt good to talk to Potter normally. Draco felt a warmth building in him. He hated Potter sometimes, and he was envious of him, but he also wanted him…and wanted to know him. Talking to him like this – and especially when he had the upper hand – felt good. And Potter looked so stupid.

And even stupid like that, Draco wanted to kiss him again. _Blast it!_

"Um, er, okay," Potter said. "So…so should I picture a wall around my head or something? Like a shield? Or, um…"

"That's good. But it would be better if you could control your emotion. That's key. It's not about picturing anything, although that can help. You really have to feel…nothing."

"Easy for you to say," Potter snarled, "You're just -"

Snape said silkily, "Potter, if you don't shut your trap and listen, I will give you a week's worth of detention. And if you say anything after this, I will speak to Dumbledore about the importance of Occlumency over Quidditch."

After this warning from Snape, Potter shut up immediately. Draco smiled. Again, he could relate. No matter how many times he lost to Potter, he still, somehow, loved playing Quidditch.

He wiped the smile off his face when Potter looked at him with that hatred and confusion again and said, "Try it."

Lazily now, Snape waved his wand and drawled, "_Legilimens._"

Draco blinked. Snape was good. Usually Legilimency took immense concentration. Only the Dark Lord himself could pull it off so casually. Bellatrix, when she had taught Draco, had always had a look of immense concentration on her face when she cast the spell.

Potter scrunched his body up in this odd way, making his height closer to Draco's. His eyes were shut tight, and his teeth were biting his lower lip. He looked ridiculous, but Draco didn't laugh. He didn't want to break Potter's concentration. He wanted Potter to succeed.

Snape drew back a few moments later, and sighed loudly. Potter un-scrunched his body, and grumbled. "I felt it was a little better that time."

Snape murmured, "Marginally, Potter. And you have Draco to thank for that. I'll have you two in my office twice a week now. I don't want you practicing alone. You'll be at each other's throats in a moment if that were allowed. Now go!"

Potter shuffled out of there so fast, that he bumped Draco's shoulder on the way out. He glanced back at Draco, who only rubbed his shoulder and winced. He wasn't going to say anything. He was too angry with himself for liking Potter, and with Blaise, for preventing him from harassing Potter. If he could go back to harassing Potter, then he could go back to pretending he didn't want to shag Potter against every available wall in Hogwarts.

Potter bit his lip again, and mumbled, "Um, sorry. And er…thanks."

Draco just shot him a glare and ambled back to Slytherin Common Room.

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOOXXOXOOXOX_

_BLAISE_

Tension was usually something Blaise enjoyed. He enjoyed observing it from the shadows. He had once almost enjoyed seeing Malfoy bother Potter, except for the envy it had brought in him, because he had desired to have Malfoy's attention for himself.

Now, tension was within him and without. He noticed it in Malfoy that night, and decided to keep away and observe from afar. Again Malfoy got up in the late night as Blaise read a book, and again took some potion. How much sleep did he get, anyway?

Blaise wanted to know what had Malfoy so tense. He hadn't said a word to Blaise all day the next day, so finally, after classes, Blaise slid next to Malfoy on the window seat in the Common Room. He didn't look at Malfoy or say anything, he just sat. Aggressive tactics worked with Malfoy, but it was hard to tell what mood Malfoy was going to be in, whether he would be seduced or not, and whether he was in the mood for conversation. He was so damn moody lately, too.

So Blaise waited. He hated waiting, but waiting seemed to work. He waited that day, sitting quietly, but Malfoy said nothing. The next day, and the day after that, he didn't pay as much attention to Malfoy. Malfoy seemed content to ignore their deal, and he seemed preoccupied, too. He was looking over at Potter during meals much more than Blaise liked.

He decided to try another tactic, to suit Malfoy's god damn moodiness, and be nice. So when he saw Malfoy with his cronies in the Common Room one evening, he sat down. By now they'd gotten used to him. Parkinson protested when Blaise sat next to Malfoy, squeezing between them, but she didn't make a move to stop him. From a game of Exploding Snap, Nott winked at him. Malfoy saw it, and glared at his friend.

Of all of them, it seemed Nott was the one Malfoy talked to the most. Blaise had seen Nott disappear behind Malfoy's curtains more than once, and he hoped to god they weren't together. He hoped they were just talking, and that he couldn't hear it because of Malfoy's Imperturbable Charm. Malfoy going for that weaselly little git was almost worse than Malfoy going for Potter.

Blaise squeezed in a little closer to Malfoy, and put his arm around the other's shoulder. When Malfoy didn't move away, Blaise smiled. Good. Parkinson was glaring at him, and Malfoy was letting him draw his hand through his hair. This was perfect.

When his fingertips slid down to brush the tender skin at the back of Malfoy's neck, the blonde shivered. Blaise let his fingers trail up and down, up and down, and at the same time, he cocked his head to look at Bulstrode.

"Millie. How are things?"

The bulky Slytherin girl smiled at him, and putting her fat hands together, she said, "Good. Today, my grandparents ordered me a new cat, after the other one got killed in an accident –" Blaise rolled his eyes. They all knew that Bulstrode had simply squeezed the cat too hard, possibly on purpose – "And, I got to knock Potter's Mudblood friend a good one. She was saying things about me."

Blaise put on a frown. "Really? Well, Mudblood has no right. She thinks she's so smart, but really she's probably just a whore. Who knows what she's doing with Weasley and Potter."

His fellow Slytherins laughed. Ugh. He couldn't believe he was wasting his time with this. This was the sort of talk Malfoy regularly engaged in? Gryffindor-bashing and other nonsense? It wasn't high fun at all, in Blaise's opinion. He would much rather talk about, well, anything else. Quidditch. Books. Spells. Music. Dancing. Sex. Anything!

Malfoy let out a soft sigh, because Blaise was now squeezing the tense muscles in his shoulder, and it probably felt good. He seemed to ignore the comment against Potter, nor was he inclined to join in.

Crabbe said, "You can't talk, Zabini. Your mum's a whore."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yes, we all know that. Tell us something new."

Nott and the girls laughed, and the two lumps, Crabbe and Goyle, didn't seem to understand. Blaise had reached his other hand in and was now kneading both of Draco's shoulders. The blonde had left the world a little, it seemed, for he allowed his head to drop back and another sigh came out of him.

Parkinson was now staring at Blaise and Malfoy. Blaise grinned. Nott winked at him again when Malfoy wasn't looking, and mouthed, "Friends with benefits?" Blaise shook his head to the right, once, and to prove that this was more than friends – really, it wasn't even that – he leaned in and gave Malfoy a lick across the ear.

Malfoy bolted up at that, glaring at him, and he tried to leave in a huff, but Blaise followed him out to the corridor, and he heard Parkinson shrieking and Nott saying something behind them, before the door shut.

Malfoy turned to face Blaise. "Do you have to have your hands all over me like that? In front of everyone? I thought you liked your privacy."

Blaise smirked. "I like _my_ privacy, yes. But with Parkinson in the room, I just had to show her what's what."

Malfoy scowled. "I'm not your little toy, Zabini."

Blaise sighed. "I know. But you won't talk to me. Not like you talk to Nott."

Malfoy clenched his fists. "Right, well I've known him for years, and you're just…you're…you! I can't talk to you about anything and everything. You said I don't have friends, but apparently, you don't know how to make them. All you know is how to be a whore."

Blaise shoved Malfoy against the wall, and as he kissed Malfoy, hard, again and again, he said, "Maybe…but…you like it…more than…you want to admit."

Then he was thrusting his tongue into Malfoy's mouth, and unlike kisses before, this one seemed to melt Malfoy. He had seemed especially tense, liked he really needed it, but Blaise knew he wasn't just giving in because he was stressed. He liked it, too. His arms wrapped around Blaise's neck, and he pushed his body against Blaise. His tongue worked against Blaise's, teasing, pushing, and then pulling away. His breath was hot in Blaise's mouth, and he didn't seem to mind Blaise's hands hard on his hips.

When Blaise moved his hands down, down to grope over that firm, round ass, Malfoy broke the kiss. "You don't have my permission," he panted, "to do that."

Blaise ignored him, and as he licked and sucked a trail down Malfoy's neck, making Malfoy moan, he kneaded his hands against Malfoy's ass more. Too bad robes were in the way. He went so far as to pull the cheeks apart, groaning that he was actually doing it, and slipped his finger in the crevice.

Malfoy was gasping now, and his robes were riding up, and he was moaning as Blaise suckled his neck while sliding his finger back and forth. Then Blaise created a tear in Malfoy's robes with a flick of his wand, and against the blonde's protesting, he moved his suckling mouth to more bare skin. It was only a cut in the chest of Malfoy's robes, but it enabled him to tease hard, pink nipples with his tongue. Then he grinded up against the smaller boy, and pushed his hands in past the robes, and groped Malfoy's ass.

This time it was bare to his fingers. He used his wand to create a squirt of lube, and coating his fingers with it, he pushed one into Malfoy. At the same time, he was grinding his hard cock against the tent in Malfoy's robes. His body felt overheated, and languid with lust, except for the tight, excited state of his cock.

Malfoy seemed to like his cock, for he was whimpering as Blaise shoved up against him. His face was flushed, and with every push of Blaise's fingers into him he was gasping. When Blaise pushed in harder, it earned him a hard groan.

He put a second finger in then, and worked Malfoy hard. The Slytherin was pushing back against the invasion, loving it, being a total fuck toy like he'd said he wasn't, and Blaise was so hard he thought he might burst. He would come in his trousers any second, were it not for the experience he had in teasing, and how he loved to make people wait.

Then Blaise was on his knees, sticky fingers removed, and his dragged his tongue over the hard arousal that Malfoy was hiding in his robes. The Slytherin was trying to recover his dignity, and attempted a spell to repair his robes, but his wand fell from his shaky fingers, and when Blaise suckled the head of his cock, Malfoy's hands buried in his hair. He yanked Blaise's hair hard, cursing, as Blaise slid his tongue down Malfoy's length.

It was so good to be close to that heat, even if he couldn't quite taste it yet – couldn't quite taste the sweat, couldn't quite lick up the precome. It was good enough having Malfoy's hard cock against his mouth in some capacity, and those little fingers wrenching his hair, while Malfoy pushed his cock against Blaise while making a sobbing sort of sound. Blaise suspected Malfoy hadn't been sucked off before. He immediately wanted to give Malfoy the time of his life. But he also didn't want to be hexed by the moody Slytherin, especially not with his raging erection. He had been spelled while hard before, and sometimes the pressure of magic physically hurt his cock. Not fun.

He moved down to Malfoy's balls, and all that cloth got in the way too much, and he really wanted to just flip Malfoy's robes up and suck him. But the corridor wouldn't be empty for long, it was nearly dinner time. He could only expect Nott to help his little seduction mission so long, too.

So Blaise pulled away, and stood up. He was going to honor Malfoy's whining and not let people see them all over each other. But meanwhile, his cock was hard, and Malfoy was staring at him with fury written all over his face.

"What?" Blaise snapped.

Malfoy licked his lips. God. Did he have to do that? Blaise wanted to plunge his tongue into Malfoy's mouth, or more, when he did that. "You," Malfoy cleared his throat, "What do you think you're doing? Get back down there."

Blaise stared at Malfoy for a second, and then laughed. "'Get back down there'? Well well, Malfoy. Perhaps I've got a whore in training, here. Ever heard of wanking it off in the shower? But fine. I'll go ahead. If anyone shows up, it's your bloody fault."

Malfoy laughed along with him, and then he grabbed hold of Blaise's waist, and pulled Blaise against him. Blaise wasn't into having Malfoy shove him around anymore than that (at least, not right now, but maybe another time, with chains or something), so he knelt down again quickly.

This time, he only got in a couple licks before Malfoy was tugging his hair and kicking him. Shit, impatient, anyone? But Blaise smirked, because he enjoyed the fact that he was driving Malfoy crazy hot for him. He took two glances down either side of the corridor. Then he was under Malfoy's robes like a sick prostitute, and he pushed his fingernails so hard against Malfoy's thighs that they bled. He slid one nail delicately up the hard length Malfoy sported, and then he couldn't wait any longer.

The blonde made a delicious, fuckable, groaning growl when Blaise's tongue slicked up his cock. He was suckling the balls next, slow and good, and Malfoy's noises were loud, and his thighs clenched over Blaise. Mmm. When Blaise suckled slow, tonguing kisses over Malfoy's cock, the blonde groaned. His hands were yanking Blaise's hair and his own robes, and he slung one leg over Blaise's shoulder. For every kiss and bit of tongue, his thigh scraped over Blaise. It was hot and slick with sweat, gliding against Blaise's cheek. He loved it.

Malfoy had a good cock. He was sizeable, long and hard. His noises were so good. They sent shivers up and down Blaise's body. His cock was pleading with him, but he ignored it for the feast he was having. He pushed his tongue in the little crevice between Malfoy's erection and his belly. He slid his teeth gently along the underside, and earned a painful tug and a whimper.

Then he was lapping at Malfoy's cock, hard and eager, groaning, dripping with his own sweat and saliva and it was so stuffy under the robe. But it was good, because Malfoy was swearing, and whispered, "Blaise," and then a longer, better, "Blaiiissse!" when Blaise's tongue touched the head.

He suckled it, fast then slow. Then Malfoy was thrusting into his mouth, fast and hard, so eager. His thighs were hot against Blaise, and he was groaning and making little "Yes" and "mmm" sounds, and then he came, and Blaise drank it. He pulled down his trousers then, freeing himself from Malfoy's robes. Malfoy watched as Blaise rubbed his cock, and tugged it in long, hard strokes, and came with a sigh.

They heard the bustling of people around the corner then, and Malfoy was trying to cast quick cleaning spells, but considering that he'd just been sucked off delightfully by Blaise, he couldn't get them all right. Blaise cleaned him up smartly, and the moment Malfoy was free, he ducked back into the Common Room without even a thanks, like the little shit he was.

Blaise pulled himself up to stand and ambled down the corridor. He ran his hands through his hair, having scourgified his body and mouth, and he wondered again, where was the Prefect bathroom with that lovely pool-sized tub?

A body slammed into him, rushing down the corridor, and Blaise suddenly had scraggly black hair in his mouth. He spat it out, and stepped back.

"Potter. What are you doing down here?"

The Gryffindor was panting, and flushed in embarrassment, before stuttering, "Wh-Where's Malfoy?"

Potter was easy to read, like a book. Blaise had even seen him giving Blaise these tell-tale little looks when they were in the library. Perhaps Blaise had the power to turn straight-as-iron Gryffindors into gays. Perhaps not. Potter wasn't so good at showing his attraction, if that was the case. Blaise had decided not to mention anything to Malfoy.

"What do you want with Malfoy?"

He didn't like that Potter was looking for Malfoy. Why would he do that? Was he still angry over the kiss? Blaise didn't think so. Potter would have done something about that, by now. He wasn't some plotting, conniving little Slytherin. He was Gryffindor, and "wore his heart on his sleeve", as the Muggles said. If he'd wanted revenge, he would've gotten it by now.

"He was supposed to show up for a private lesson with me and Snape," Potter breathed, and he seemed to man himself up for Blaise's response, looking Blaise straight in the eye.

"Remedial Potions? Why would Malfoy be part of that? He's expert with potions."

Harry sighed. "He's helping me out. And making sure Snape doesn't lose his patience. We had to go without him today, and…he should've showed." The last part was a growl. "He was there earlier this week."

Earlier this week? Blaise frowned. He'd thought Malfoy was keeping their deal and avoiding Potter. Apparently not! But maybe Snape had forced it. He would've thought Potter would be glad that Malfoy skipped, but maybe Snape had punished Potter for Malfoy's skipping.

Blaise noticed then how Potter was distinctly having trouble. He had his forehead clutched in his hand, as if he feared he had a fever, or as if his scar hurt him. Blaise had heard of the occasional fainting spells Potter had when his scar hurt him very badly. Nobody really knew why Potter was fainting left and right though. Rumor went that when the Dark Lord was pissed, he sent a little pain in Potter's direction through some unknown dark magic spell.

"Is Snape giving you both detentions for him not showing up? What's it to you?"

Potter cringed against some internal pain, and clutched his forehead harder, letting out a deep breath. "Ow. Um. He might. Together. To punish us. And. It's harder. For me. Without Malfoy there."

Blaise immediately felt jealousy flare up in him, coiling and whirling like a snake. It was fierce enough to choke him, for a moment. He ground out, "Why is it harder?"

Potter flashed him a puzzled look, and leaned against a corridor wall, cursing under his breath. Merlin, what the hell was wrong with him? He spoke haltingly again. "Snape doesn't…isn't…Malfoy is more. Straightforward. in his explanations. Snape. doesn't really. Explain. what to do very well…"

"Potter, I knew you were an idiot, but how hard is it to read a Potions textbook and a list of ingredients and what to do with them? Snape writes down instructions on the board. He's not like Binns, or flighty Flitwick, or self-absorbed Slughorn. Why aren't you doing Remedial Potions with Slughorn?"

Potter sank against the floor suddenly, gasping. On instinct, before he was thinking about it, Blaise had caught him before he hit the floor entirely, and the Gryffindor sagged in his arms. Those green eyes were wide open but seeing nothing, and Potter's breaths came sharp and fast. Blaise shoved off the hand that Potter still pressed up against his forehead, and when his fingertips accidentally brushed the lightning scar, it burned like fire!

Blaise yanked his hand away, swearing. What in Salazar's name? He made his grip stronger as shudders wracked through Potter's body again and again. They weren't hard like a seizure, but spasmodic, and his hands were twitching. The lightning scar on his forehead stood out starkly against his face, which had gone ashen. He yelled out in pain at one point, a quick, high-pitched scream of fear.

It was horrifying. Blaise hadn't heard Potter scream before. He hadn't seen Potter this scared since the Dementors in third year, and he hadn't seen Potter possessed, or whatever this was, ever. He felt ill seeing it, and he hoped Potter wasn't going to croak in his arms right there. Dumbledore would be angry, and Malfoy, well…he didn't want to think what Malfoy would feel.

Potter remained like that, ashen and blank, for a few more moments. Then his hands stopped twitching. Shit shit shit. Was he dead?

Suddenly, like a fish returning to the ocean, Potter gasped loudly. He sat up, and his head slammed into Blaise's. "OUCH! You idiot!"

Potter pulled away, blinking furiously, and looked very dazedly at Blaise. He didn't even seem to have heard Blaise's yelling. "What…what…Zabini?"

"What the hell just happened?" Blaise blurted. He felt shaky from having witnessed it. He'd known the Dark Lord was real, and he'd seen how that knowledge frightened Malfoy, and then there'd been that article last year with Potter's account of the Dark Lord's rebirth…but none of that was quite like seeing Potter with the scar from the Dark Lord, falling on the floor and losing his mind for a couple seconds.

Blaise had seen a lot of things. He had seen multiple men killed by his own mother, via the Cruciatus Curse. He had briefly encountered other dark magic in shifty liaisons with various wizards. He had tried out some of the Dark Arts himself, none with the eagerness or joy that many of his peers felt. But having no Death Eater as a parent, he had never been privy to anything involving the Dark Lord directly.

Potter, innocent, stupid Potter, who Blaise had thought was only frightfully lucky, was clearly something more, just as Malfoy had said. This didn't make Blaise want to snog him madly, but…Merlin, it did change things. It was alarming. It was even scary. He swallowed the urge to be angry with Potter, which would only reveal his fear, or to hug him, which he felt an odd urge to do after seeing Potter's eyes so blank…

"What the hell just happened?" He repeated, a little more calmly.

Potter had some sense returned to him, it seemed. A flush spilled down from his cheeks to his neck when he realized he was on Blaise's lap, and both boys immediately pulled apart.

_XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXO_

_More soon!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so much for the reviews!_

_I realize I haven't quite managed the "turpentine kisses and mistaken blows" yet, have I? well, the kisses, yes. the blows, no. Will work on that._

_And someone requested Terry Boot. I'll try to squeeze him in somewhere...sorry, not this chapter!_

PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

by The Ultimate Otaku

Chapter 5

_XOXOXOOXOXOXOOOXOOXOOX_

_BLAISE_

_XOXOXOXOXOXXOXOOXOXOXOO_

_"What the hell just happened?" He repeated, a little more calmly._

_Potter had some sense returned to him, it seemed. A flush spilled down from his cheeks to his neck when he realized he was on Blaise's lap, and both boys immediately pulled apart._

The Boy Who Lived shut his eyes tight, and whispered, "It was…him. Voldemort. He…_I_…Malfoy. He was angry with Malfoy for not being fast enough. He was telling Narcissa Malfoy a warning, that Malfoy had better be quicker, or else he would…kill her…with pleasure…for her family having failed him so thoroughly. He made Bellatrix do the Cruciatus…" Potter groaned, in pain or emotion, and continued, "Bellatrix crucioed her sister. And…and she was laughing…and Voldemort was laughing…"

His voice was shaking. Blaise was stunned. Potter had seen all this in a vision? And he was scared of it; Blaise had known all that stuff about Potter being invincible was hogwash. He had known Potter was human all along. What stunned him was that any of this was happening, and the fact that Potter sounded like he just might _cry_. Why? Did the idea of someone else losing their mother upset him that much?

Blaise thought of his own mother, and thought he understood Potter a little better, now.

Then Potter asked the strangest question. "Did I laugh? When I was…on the floor, or, whatever."

Blaise stared at Potter. Why would Potter laugh? When Voldemort was laughing…why would Potter laugh? The scar was somehow a connection to Voldemort, apparently. But unless Potter were in Voldemort's head, he wouldn't laugh at seeing that…even he didn't hate the Malfoy family that much, to laugh at their pain…he must have been in Voldemort's head. That was why he had said "I"…wasn't it? Blaise repressed a shudder.

"No," he murmured quietly. His voice seemed shot. "No, you didn't laugh." He didn't mention the scream of terror.

He paused, his mind racing. Malfoy was in trouble, the whole family was, and his mother was possibly dead from being crucioed. Lucius was in Azkaban, how could he do anything for Voldemort? It made no sense. Unless…unless Voldemort meant a different Malfoy. Unless he meant Draco. Perhaps Draco had been given a task, or even become a Death Eater…

Blaise swallowed back the panic that was choking him and pounding at his temples. He helped Potter stand, and the shy Gryffindor suddenly leaned on him like he couldn't stand properly. Blaise didn't know what to do. He wanted to go tell Malfoy everything he'd just heard, but he also didn't want to witness Malfoy flip out. That's what he would do if his mother was in danger, frankly, because even though he hated her sometimes, she _was_ all he had left. And Narcissa Malfoy was all that Draco had left, too, now.

He looked at Potter from the corner of his eye. Potter had no family left. Both of his parents were dead. No wonder he was always so damn overprotective of his friends, and his friends' families. They were all _he_ had left. And they weren't even "left", he had met them at Hogwarts. Blaise wondered who Potter had lived with before coming to Hogwarts. No media had ever given that information out.

"You look totally blown out. Do you want help back to Gryffindor tower?"

Potter looked puzzled at this sudden turn in conversation, and then he murmured, "No. No, I need to go to Dumbledore, and tell him what I saw…and you can go tell Malfoy…you're close with him, right?"

Something in his voice told Blaise that Potter had seen something. But what? Had he seen him suck off Malfoy – Draco, he supposed he should call him now – in the corridor? In his damned Invisibility Cloak? Or had Malfoy – Draco – said something?

"I'd rather not mention it," Blaise said simply. Potter looked confused, but Blaise wasn't going to elaborate. He didn't want Potter to know what a wreck Draco was. Any more pressure and he would explode.

But Blaise had to tell him, didn't he? That, or Narcissa Malfoy would die. He had to know that the Dark Lord demanded he be quicker with whatever it was.

"Shit. Alright, I'll tell him. But first. Where is Dumbledore's office?"

Potter lead the way, and whispered the password. Blaise had never been in Dumbledore's office. He helped Potter up the stairs, and immediately the Headmaster with his piercing blue gaze was beside them, helping Potter and summoning chairs. Those blue eyes had always unnerved Blaise. He felt like they could read his mind, and he hated that.

"The both of you look like you just saw ghosts…well, if they were worse ghosts than the ones we encounter here at Hogwarts. Harry? Tell me what has happened."

Potter gave Blaise one sidelong glance, and Blaise just nodded. He supposed he was telling Potter he could trust him, which he couldn't, really…but maybe he could. Because now that Blaise had seen Potter collapse, he couldn't really just hand him over to Draco for whatever ill purpose, could he? Because it was all real, and Potter wasn't some amazing hero who could do anything. He looked shaken and wan, and it was clear that he was afraid for Draco's family. Blaise knew Draco wouldn't want to hurt someone who cared for his family's protection…right?

He knew Draco's family was important to the blonde. Potter relayed the vision back to Dumbledore, and Blaise thought. What would cause Draco to work for the Dark Lord? Only family. And what would get him anxious as he had been? A threat to his family, of course. Blaise had studied Draco Malfoy long enough to surmise all of this. Draco didn't reveal his deep feelings much, but it was evident, if one had seen him defend his parents to others, and caught onto that weird reverse-psychology that he used, (the very same that made his crush on Potter cause him to harass him), well…you could tell that he cared for his parents mightily.

Shit, shit, and shit. How was Blaise going to help Draco? And what could he do for Potter? Because…if he was at all honest with himself right now…he felt a strange urge in himself to protect Potter. Of course, it battled with his jealousy, and he told it to shut up, that Dumbledore would take care of Potter, and that Potter had dealt with visions of Voldemort for years, and fainting. Why should Blaise care now?

But the memory of those green eyes gone all glassy, and Potter's scream, and the way he now looked from Blaise to Dumbledore, as if they had any idea of how to help Draco Malfoy…and Blaise knew that this wasn't some change in Potter due to Draco having kissed him. He had seen Potter seem to gloat about Lucius being in Azkaban, but this was also the Potter who had stupidly, sentimentally saved all champions' "dear ones" in the water task of the Triwizard Tournament. He had more sentimentality than was right, but that instance showed that Potter could care for his enemies…especially the petty ones like Draco.

Except Draco wasn't a petty threat anymore, if he was going to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord or something. That was very serious. Blaise buried his face in his hands, sighing.

"Professor Dumbledore? What should we do?" Potter asked.

The Headmaster sighed, and looked at both of them from across his desk. He rested his chin on steepled fingers. Blaise admired the handsome phoenix in the cage nearby, and then looked at the old man across the desk.

"Harry, I will speak to Professor Snape. Meanwhile, I want you to continue your lessons in Occlumency, because no matter how significant it is that you have discovered this, and you want to help, this could be another pretend vision that Voldemort has thrust into your mind. Perhaps he purposely wants this news to reach Draco. You continue your lessons.

"At the moment, it is still early, but I myself might pop on in to bed. If you are feeling too awake still, or far too awake, as Mr. Zabini appears, I would suggest a good, hot bath to relax. Would the Prefect's bathroom do well?"

Had Dumbledore read Blaise's mind? He'd been contemplating that bath.

Dumbledore smiled at them. "The password for the Prefect's bathroom is currently 'giant squid.' You have my permission to use it. I shall deliver a message to the mermaid in the portrait."

Blaise watched Potter's blanch as Occlumency was mentioned, and then as Dumbledore permitted them both in, there was that obvious flush again. Did Potter really have the hots for him? He'd suspected it, but the flush seemed to prove his suspicion more. Merlin, he would love a hot bath right now…and he had never seen the Prefect's bathroom…but why did Potter get first dibs?

Also, Blaise did not know what to do. Did Dumbledore want him to tell Draco about the vision of Draco's mum and the Dark Lord, or not? Again, he felt like those freakish blue eyes read his mind, because Dumbledore looked at him now, and said, "Mr. Zabini, I think it best if you leave the relaying of news to me. I will call up Mr. Malfoy into my office tomorrow, after he has had some time to rest."

Rest. Draco was never getting enough rest, waking up at odd hours of the night. Although perhaps he would tonight, since Blaise had given him the blow job of his life today.

Dumbledore smiled and stood up, and that seemed to be the cue for them to leave. Potter stood up suddenly, and shakily. Immediately Blaise grabbed onto his arm to steady him. Then he pulled back, wondering at himself. Dumbledore seemed to smile at him approvingly, which forced him to put his hand back over Potter's thin wrist, and they walked like that out of the Headmaster's office.

Once they were out, Blaise dropped Potter's arm. "Look, I could really use the Prefect's tub, but you're the one who just…well…"

Potter marched forward, saying, "Let me show you where it is, at least."

He followed Potter, eager for relaxation, and for the jittered nerves feeling to leave him.

_XOXOXOXOXOOXOXOOXOXXOXOXOXOXO_

_HARRY_

Harry felt absolutely exhausted. His scar had stopped prickling in Dumbledore's office, but his every limb felt ready to drop off. He had a pounding headache, and he couldn't believe he was currently leading Blaise Zabini to the Prefect's bathroom. Dumbledore had given them permission, but it still felt weird. What trouble would Zabini get into with the Prefects? What if someone was in there, and he was seen with Zabini? And he wanted desperately to go first, but Zabini wanted to go in too, for some reason.

He did not want to continue lessons with Snape, especially since Snape had involved Malfoy. He knew that Malfoy had a task for Voldemort, not only because of his vision, but because of having eavesdropped on Snape and Malfoy's argument in Snape's office before Malfoy hit him with the door. He did not want Malfoy helping him! That was worse than Snape. Especially since Malfoy was clearly a Death Eater now…Merlin, he should've known all along. He resented the discomfort that came with the thought that Malfoy was a Death Eater. It wasn't just anger he felt, but a twinge of…regret?

Clearly, he was going bonkers. Why else would he care that the stupid prat had gone and surrendered to Voldemort? It wasn't the kiss, and it wasn't that Malfoy had been strangely nice to him in front of Snape. Well, it wasn't all that, at least. He knew that Malfoy was a coward, and would never willingly submit to Voldemort. He was too proud. But if he were desperate enough, well…he would. And he had. He was an absolute _idiot_! There were better ways to get his father out of prison…well, not really, Harry supposed…but couldn't Malfoy see that serving Voldemort got one nowhere? His father had been sent to Azkaban because of his service to Voldemort.

Plus, even if Voldemort had promised Draco that Lucius would be set free of Azkaban in return for whatever favor Draco was doing him, that Draco had actually believed Voldemort made him more of an idiot.

How could Harry feel hatred for someone who was clearly clueless? Instead, he felt sympathy for Draco Malfoy, which battled with roiling anger and dismay. It was he who had put Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban, but the man had deserved it. But did Draco deserve it? Did Narcissa Malfoy deserve it? He wouldn't call them innocent, not by a long shot…but he couldn't entirely condemn them, either.

Zabini seemed even more worried than Harry about it all. Of course, Zabini was Malfoy's…lover, or something.

He remembered what Zabini had looked like when he'd first bumped into him, right before the pain in his scar became severe. Zabini's hair was wild, and he was walking with a very loose, natural gait. The dark Slytherin had looked like he'd just been shagged or something. In addition to the messy hair, his face had been flushed, his lips looking bitten and well, overly used, and there was just that air of satisfaction around him. He looked really good, and Harry didn't have to guess twice whom he might have shagged. Malfoy. Ugh! That whole kiss had probably been a dare or some stupid trick Zabini had made Malfoy do…a game between lovers, or something.

Except for the jealousy he'd seen in Zabini, twice now. Why would Zabini be jealous, unless he felt truly threatened by Harry? And why would he feel threatened, unless Malfoy's kiss with Harry had been, well, real?

It was all too much for Harry to handle in the moment, in addition to the images of Narcissa Malfoy twisting and writhing on a marble floor in pain…and Voldemort, himself as Voldemort, laughing that high-pitched laugh, just as he had when he'd killed Harry's mother…

Something in Harry protested in panic to the idea of Malfoy, too, losing both his parents, and by Voldemort. It made rage and anxiety swarm up within Harry, so much so that he had to stop to lean against a wall and breathe now.

"Are you getting another one? A vision?"

Harry shook his head in some direction that was perhaps towards Zabini. "No. I just…I can't quite breathe properly…"

He raked his hands through his hair, trying to take in deep breaths. Zabini grabbed his arm when he was going to rake his hands up again, and said, "Stop it. We need to get you to the Prefect's bathroom, or Madam Pomfrey. I don't know why Dumbledore didn't recommend it. You could use some Draught of Peace or Sleeping Draught."

Harry shook his head. "Not, not the Hospital Wing, please…I couldn't sleep right now…"

Zabini seemed to see something in his eyes that moved him to sympathy, just a tad. Maybe he could tell that Harry dreaded sleeping just now, fearing more visions. He seemed awfully good at reading people. He linked his arm through Harry's and pulled him along, a little quicker than Harry would've liked.

Harry directed him to the right floor, and when they stood in front of the bathroom door, he couldn't remember the password at all.

"Um…"

"Giant squid."

The door slid open, and the familiar elegant, large space of the Prefect's bathroom was revealed.

Zabini sat Harry down on the rim of the tub, and sat himself down on a counter, looking around. He whistled. "Look at this place. It's enough to make you want to treat everyone nice and work your ass off, just to be a prefect. But I bet you've been in here plenty before, seeing as your friend Weasley's a prefect now, right?"

Harry nodded dully. He hadn't talked to Ron about this bathroom, but he was sure Ron knew about it. He himself hadn't been in since trying to figure out the golden egg in his Fourth Year, though. That was when Cedric was still alive…

He sighed, shutting his eyes against the pain of his headache.

Zabini made some noise of concern, and then his body was right next to Harry's, as he leaned over and turned on several of the golden taps of the sunk-in, swimming-pool-sized tub. Harry clenched his jaw at the closeness of Zabini's body – he smelled like rich wizard cologne, and it made Harry's head start to spin, but it was nice to have Zabini's warmth so close.

Water gushed out of the spouts, as well as golden bubbles, pink froth, rainbow bubbles that danced around the tub's edge, and the jets that ricocheted inside the tub, which Harry remembered he'd liked best. Other bubbles went in, too, and perfumed smell filled the room.

Satisfied, Zabini sat back on the counter and looked at the filling pool and at Harry. "Well. That's quite something. I haven't seen anything like this even in other wizarding families' manors. I bet Draco doesn't even have such nice arrangements."

He became troubled again, brow furrowing. Harry wondered how long Zabini had been calling Malfoy 'Draco'. He hadn't heard them address each other by their first names in the library, and that hadn't been more than a week ago. What had changed in a week? Clearly they weren't that close before now, or Zabini would have visited Malfoy Manor before and known what sort of 'nice arrangements' were there.

Zabini asked, "How are you feeling?"

Harry groaned. "Horrid." He was beyond trying to look unfazed at this point; his stomach was queasy, his mind burned with the image of Narcissa Malfoy's pained expression, and his head felt like a hippogriff was galloping inside of it.

"Do you want to go in like that?"

Harry looked down at his trousers, the Weasley sweater he wore, and the long, oversized shirt. "No." The pool behind him wasn't even full yet.

"Well?" Zabini sounded impatient. "Hurry it up, then."

When Harry stared at him – he wasn't going to undress in front of Zabini! – the Slytherin walked forward and, to Harry's horror, grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"What, what are you doing?" Harry breathed. He felt like he might faint. His senses were overloaded. Zabini was so close, and he was smiling at Harry, or smirking, rather, and his hands were over Harry's thighs now. Harry swallowed, and tried to force some sort of protest out of his throat, but it didn't seem to want to cooperate. He hadn't ever been this close to any of the boys he'd looked at, or liked. Perhaps he should be glad his throat wasn't working, so he wouldn't stutter.

He couldn't help a sort of tremble that came to him, when Zabini lifted his shirt with the sweater up and dragged it off of him. Warm fingertips grazed Harry's skin all the way up his torso. He wanted more of that.

Zabini flung the shirt and sweater away and gave Harry an appraising look, followed by, "Why do you wear such oversized clothes, Potter? They look awful. You're not actually that bad, you know. I mean, Quidditch has done something good for you."

Harry noticed the way Zabini looked suddenly tongue-tied, caught between the nice things he'd said and the urge he was probably currently feeling to take it all back. It was almost like he'd complimented Harry's physique, in a weird way. Harry felt scrawny though, and hated his hair more than ever in that moment, knowing it was especially messy. Zabini was looking at him shirtless! Harry felt his face go possibly as red as a tomato.

"I, I only ever wear robes at school," Harry said quietly, in answer to Zabini's question.

"Only at school? Don't you buy clothes in the Muggle world? I'm sure you have enough galleons to shop at Diagon Alley."

Harry said nothing. His clothes were passed down from Dudley, always, and he'd never had anything of his own before he'd known he was a wizard. His glasses didn't really count, did they? He wondered what the Dursleys would say he if wore robes over the summer, and almost wanted to laugh.

Zabini caught on far too quickly. "If you don't wear robes during the summer, and these are the best clothes you've got, you must live with Muggles." He stared at Harry, and Harry squirmed. "You do, don't you? And you have no Muggle money, it seems."

Harry didn't meet Zabini's gaze. He hated that Zabini had figured it out. He didn't like talking to anybody about the Dursleys, not even Hermione and Ron. They would only gape at him like fish, or coo over him in sympathy. Fred and George had made jokes about Dudley, and the Ton-Tongue toffee incident was certainly funny, but…having Zabini know was something else. He would just make cruel jokes.

But Zabini wasn't saying anything, just looking at Harry. Harry was embarrassed to be shirtless in front of Zabini but it also made him hungry to have him close again. Locker rooms as a boy and House dormitories at Hogwarts hadn't prepared him for the desire that was slipping into him now. He wished Zabini would take off his shirt, too, because it was hot and steamy in the room. The mermaid in the portrait was looking at Harry, and he wondered if she, too, thought Quidditch had "done something good for him".

Hermione _had_ said something earlier in the year, when a gaggle of giggling girls had gone by, about Harry being taller…and that the rumors about him being "the Chosen One" made him very popular…but this was Zabini…

"Are you that out of it? Does this always happen when you see the Dark Lord in a vision? Get a grip, Potter."

Zabini hands took hold of Harry's shoulders, shaking him, which made Harry almost fall back into the tub. There was no rim to hold, so he grabbed Zabini instead, and suddenly the other boy's taller, heavy body was against Harry. His long hair was covering Harry's face, his scent was filling Harry's nose, and a firm chest was up against Harry's, and something hard and long was poking into Harry's thigh, which sent him into a panic until he realized it was just Zabini's wand in his robes pocket.

"Merlin, you're almost as much a wreck as Draco," Zabini muttered, pushing himself off of Harry. His next words were almost too quiet to catch. "Maybe the two of you _should_ be together."

With a scowl, Zabini turned away, leaving Harry sitting there trying not to think of what Zabini's words implied about Malfoy. His heart beat fast in him, and he swallowed again. He felt like panting, having had Zabini so close, and he wished he had…what, kept Zabini there against him? Kissed him? Yes, he wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to yank Zabini's clothes off, and…

"What do you mean?" he blurted, trying to distract himself. He desperately did not want to get a hard-on with Zabini right there! He should hurry up and take a bath so Zabini could be next…but if he wanked off, which he would have to, then Zabini outside the room would surely hear…

The Slytherin's gaze trailed all over Harry, and Harry got the feeling again that Zabini could read him. He felt goose bumps slither up his arms with Zabini looking at him. Could he tell Harry was somewhat aroused?

"It's none of your business," Zabini snapped. Then he was standing up, and Harry thought he meant to leave, but instead, Zabini had grabbed his arm and wrenched it up close so he could look at it.

"What's this scar from?"

It was the one Harry had gotten two years ago when Wormtail got his blood to revive Voldemort. "One of Voldemort's henchmen did it," Harry said.

The dark Slytherin didn't flinch when Harry said Voldemort's name, but a vein twitched in his temple. He drew his thumb over the white line of the scar on Harry's arm, and then he looked at the lightning bolt on Harry's forehead. "That almost burned me when I touched it," he said. He reached out his hand to brush Harry's hair away from his forehead. "Was it doing that just because of your vision?"

Harry licked his lips. Zabini looked even better up close, and he was being so god damn _nice_ for a Slytherin. Was he teasing Harry on purpose? Or was he oblivious to these sorts of things, like Ron was, and like Hermione said Harry was? But Harry didn't think so. Someone oblivious to physical attractions and such wouldn't be able to have snogged Malfoy so well…

"I, I think it was just the vision. You can…touch it, if you like, I suppose."

Harry shut his eyes, steamrolled out of breath by a sudden idea of this conversation in a different context. If only Zabini was asking to touch his cock instead. He wondered what those smooth fingertips would feel like against him. He was sweating now, and he knew it wasn't just the heat from the tub. Lust was grinding in him, and he wanted something inane and impossible to happen, like Zabini sitting on his lap and pushing his beautiful, lean body up against Harry…

Warm, soft fingertips drifted over Harry's scar lightly, and then pressed a little harder. "Can he see me, when I do this?" Zabini asked in a whisper.

"Who?" Harry wanted to know if he would say it, even though he knew already who Zabini meant.

"Voldemort," Zabini bit out, "Can he see me?"

Harry smiled a little; he couldn't help it. He was glad that Zabini had been able to say Voldemort's name. Here was one Slytherin who wasn't afraid of 'the Dark Lord', as they all seemed to call Voldemort. Perhaps Zabini was right. Not every Slytherin was evil, and not every child of a Death Eater, or of someone involved with them, was bad…Zabini seemed to be proof enough of this. And even idiot Malfoy too, maybe.

"He can't see you," Harry said. "I can only see him when he's feeling strong emotion. Can you…not touch it anymore? Please."

"Fine. What other secrets do you have, Potter? What is it like living with Muggles?"

"Boring," Harry said. He wanted Zabini closer and further away all at once. Zabini drew away, and Harry missed his touch and his heat.

"Are you getting in or not? Because I'm starving, frankly, but I want to refresh myself first. There's nothing like a hot bath, and this bathroom has got to be enjoyed. I intend to, right now. So are you getting in or not?"

Harry realized that he was suddenly hungry, too. It was dinner. Ron and Hermione were probably anxious to know where he was. Maybe Dumbledore had informed them. Plus a bath sounded so good…and it almost seemed like Zabini was going to get in whether Harry left or not.

He wanted to get the rest of his clothes off desperately, he wanted to wank, he wanted to kiss Zabini, he wanted to feel that undoubtedly hot tongue glide over him…any part of him…

Then the world decided to give Harry a break, because alarmingly, Zabini was undressing. In front of Harry. Harry pinched his arm hard, and it hurt, so this must be real. He watched as the long, dark school robes were pulled off of Zabini in one quick movement. Then Zabini was taking off his shirt, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.

Even from behind, you could tell Zabini was beautiful. His skin was smooth and dark, and there was not a single blemish on him. His mussed hair hung a little past his shoulders. Harry watched his shoulder blades moving in two delicate sweeps before he realized Zabini was unbuttoning his trousers. Oh Merlin…it was already good enough to last Harry multiple wet dreams, just to see Zabini shirtless from behind, to have more of that beautiful body revealed, but then Zabini was dropping his trousers and underclothes, too, and Harry drank in the sight.

Zabini's ass was good enough to bite. Harry wanted to touch him. He wanted to see his front, too, and run his tongue all along Zabini's cock. He clenched his fingers into fists, biting his lip hard enough to bleed it. His cock was begging for him to have some taste of the beautiful boy in front of him, and his eyes were fixated on the firm, rounded ass in front of him, and the back of Zabini's long legs, and the way Zabin's head tilted back to get hair out of his eyes…

Harry shut his eyes when Zabini turned around, because he knew if he saw any more, he just might explode. His cock was so hard, and he wanted desperately to reach down and fondle himself. But Zabini was right there! Harry had to wait to wank, and he might blow it, literally, if he opened his eyes. He didn't want Zabini to read it all in his face. Could Zabini see that he was hard?

He let out a small sigh when he heard the lapping of water against the tub, a sign that Zabini had gotten in the bath. Reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. He cursed himself for not having looked, given that one chance, but he was also relieved that he hadn't embarrassed himself royally.

"Mmm," Zabini sighed in the water. He didn't swim laps as Harry had the first time. He just stood there, and Harry watched the contented look on that face. Zabini's eyes were closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks. A gentle smile turned his mouth. He had already dunked his head in the water, and his dark curls were flattened somewhat on his head. Wet tendrils stuck to his forehead and his neck, and Harry held in a groan. Zabini looked so good wet.

Dark eyes opened, and Harry found Zabini staring right at him. His gaze was so very direct! Harry couldn't look away, though. He was riveted. He didn't know if Zabini was reading the desire in him from his face alone – Harry was angled away so Zabini couldn't see his front. He couldn't look away for some reason.

"Joining me, Potter? There's room enough." Zabini laughed.

That voice seemed laced with a little challenge. Maybe Zabini could read Harry's lust in his eyes. Or maybe he'd seen Harry's trouser tent before he went into the water. Harry felt sweat trickle down his neck, and blinked, forcing himself to look away from Zabini.

"Give me a second," he managed to say. Then, "Don't look." He made sure to sound surly, when really, he was excited – and nervous. He was really going to go in, hard as hell, with Zabini there?

Yes, yes he was. He had been a coward last year, and he had been in denial for so long. It was time to stop running away. He was Gryffindor, wasn't he? He wouldn't leave with his erection, and wank off in some storage closet. He wouldn't do that and then go to a miserable, lonely dinner where Ron and Hermione snapped at each other. He would stay here, and stop fantasizing hard enough to make himself come, and try to enjoy a hot bath.

_XOXOXOXOXOXOOXXOXOXOXOXOOXXO_

_More soon! I promise more plot soon, though I know it seems relatively plotless in this chapter...heheh.  
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	6. Chapter 6

_I'm so glad people are enjoying this! I'm sorry it's going so slowly (both updates and plotwise). And sorry to all, but for now it will continue to be a love triangle. It may even be a BZ/DM/HP. _

PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

An HP fanfic

by The Ultimate Otaku

_CHAPTER 6_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOX_

_HARRY_

He made sure Zabini had turned away, and then Harry stripped as quickly as he could. He stared at the back of Zabini's head as he did, with baited breath. _Please don't look at me, please, please_. _Merlin, why am I doing this, again? At least I don't feel ill anymore…seeing Zabini cured that…but lord…_

Harry looked down as he took off his trousers and underclothes. His cock was fully erect, not even having been touched or played with, and if he let himself imagine things anymore, it would react even more strongly. He bit back a groan as he peeled his clothing from his sensitive member, and then slid feet-first, his head still turned towards Zabini, into the tub.

He knew that he wasn't going to swim around or do any treading water, because it wouldn't feel good with his cock erect. So he just stood there stupidly, before moving behind the shelter of a froth of bubbles and easing himself into a tub-side seat.

The water felt so good around him. Harry wished he'd learned some fantastic spell to help him come without being noticed, because then he could get rid of his problem so easily even with Zabini right here. But he knew he was loud and messy, and that was why he was grateful for _Muffliato_ and other handy spells to keep his wanking private.

And he would never really wank off in Myrtle's bathroom. He remembered her perving from Fourth Year well.

Zabini seemed determined to actually get clean, for he was now dunking his head in the water over and over, and splashing waves of it over his back and shoulders. Harry watched him, unable to look away. He watched as Zabini grabbed for the shampoo on the side, and lathered up his hair thoroughly, and then rinsed it. He watched as a bar of soap disappeared underwater in Zabini's hands, and assumedly got to touch every little bit of Zabini's bare, wet skin…

Harry coughed to hide some other sound he might have made, and slipped his hand that had rested on the pool's side into the water. Slowly, agonizingly, he glided his fingers over his cock. Mmm! He pressed harder, eliciting a gasp, and stroked a little quickly up and down. Mmm, it felt so good.

He shut his eyes so he wouldn't be tempted to look at Zabini anymore, and got stolen away by sensation as he rubbed his cock up and down, squeezed it, drew his grip up and down it. His breath was coming in short pants now, but maybe over the splashing Zabini couldn't hear him…He ground his teeth together as he played with the head, played with the slit, and a hiss poured out of him.

Harry opened his eyes just a little. Zabini was looking at him.

"Was that Parseltongue, or what, Potter? You're a strange one."

"You just think it's hot, and you're angry because I'm the only one you can hear it from," Harry retorted, and then bit his tongue. Shit! He had heard that when he was eavesdropping on Malfoy and Zabini's conversation in the library. Why had he gone and blurted it? He slipped his hand off his cock, partly to punish himself, and partly because staring at Zabini while touching himself was not a good idea.

Zabini narrowed his eyes at Harry, and then snapped, "Been having a lot of fun with that Cloak of yours, have you? And so what if I do find Parseltongue hot? It's easily ignored."

Harry didn't like the way Zabini was implying that Harry was easy to ignore, too. He shut his eyes and imagined very determinedly a large snake coiling around one corner of the pool they were in. In Parseltongue, he said to the imaginary snake, "_Sometimes I think it's easier to just not talk to Slytherins, but occasionally there's an interesting one, like him. Then what am I supposed to do? Besides, he's made it so I won't be able to forget him, now…if only it were so easy to be captured by a fellow Gryffindor. I wish he would leave, but I want him around, too."_

When he opened his eyes, Zabini was looking at him with loathing. "You think you're quite something, don't you, Potter? Well, I'm not impressed. I'm done dealing with you."

His anger came so swift, and so unexpectedly, that Harry could only open his mouth in surprise, and he didn't realize until it was too late that Zabini was leaving the pool in his fit of anger.

Time seemed to stand still, in a stupid, hilarious way, except it wasn't, as Harry watched Zabini's bare body emerge from the water. He saw the dark hair, extra curly now, against Zabini's broad shoulders. He saw a flash of white teeth in a smile, but the eyes were angry…Zabini had muscular arms, a narrow waist, and hips that were so perfectly carved they seemed meant to have hands gripping them. His legs were long and muscular, and the hair at his groin was thick and curled, and his cock was big and beautiful, and Harry wanted it…he wanted it in his hands, he wanted it in his mouth, and he hadn't quite imagined things so lurid before, but the sight of Zabini's beautiful body made the ideas flow into his head one after another.

Then Zabini was out of the pool, and he dried himself off with a towel. Harry sank into the water with his face as red as a beet. Zabini had no doubt seen him staring. That was what the smirk had been about. Lord…

When the door was shut firmly behind the Slytherin, Harry pushed himself, gasping, out of the water. Then he sat back and had the best and quickest wank of his life so far.

_XOXXOXOXOXOXXOOXOOOXXOXOXOXO_

_DRACO_

_XOOXOXOXOOXXOXOXOOXOXXOOXXOO_

"Please have a seat, Draco."

Obediently, if a little stiffly, Draco sat down. He had always felt uncomfortable in Dumbledore's presence. The man was purportedly very old and very wise, and Draco knew that, as well as Potter, Dumbledore was able to make the Dark Lord afraid. Draco supposed this was why Potter liked Dumbledore.

But it was also why Draco _didn't_ like Dumbledore. Currently, he was serving the Dark Lord for the good of his family, and he didn't want Dumbledore nosing in. Previously, he'd just been unnerved by the man. From his stupid jokes every year, to the way he looked over those crescent glasses just now with those damnable forceful eyes, and the way he was content to just be a headmaster, well…Draco didn't understand it.

Didn't the man have any ambition? But, he supposed, Dumbledore had been Gryffindor. He had defeated Grindelwald, after all. But Draco still didn't like him. It was like being around Blaise's mother, he imagined – one moment happy, one moment serious. In his experience, Dumbledore was very flighty like that. Draco hated that inconsistency. At least Potter was consistent.

"What is it, sir?" Draco forced that 'sir' on. He didn't despise Dumbledore like his father did, but it was still hard to say sir to a man he barely ever saw and who, when he did see him, spouted nonsense and noble speeches.

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. He looked down intently at his desk as if some mystery was held there, and then he gave that same intent look to Draco. Draco gulped.

"I will not trouble to beat around the bush, Draco," the Headmaster sighed. "This is a very serious matter. I am afraid that your mother, and perhaps your father as well, are in danger. Danger, specifically, that comes from Voldemort."

Draco flinched at the name, and then he registered what Dumbledore had said. "My parents? What's going on? How do you know? …Sir."

He knew he was fidgeting in his chair now, but he couldn't stop. When Dumbledore looked at him again though, that gaze froze him. Draco held onto the arms of his chair so tightly that he could only seem to feel his fingers, and that terrible gaze on him, for a moment.

"Harry Potter came up to my office last night, accompanied by your fellow Slytherin Blaise Zabini. He had just had a vision, due to his connection with Voldemort's mind. The vision showed your mother, who, I am sorry to say, had the Cruciatus Curse cast on her by Bellatrix Lestrange. I am afraid Harry did not see what became of your mother. I want you to decide what we do next, Draco."

Draco was stunned. He couldn't breathe. His hands gripped the chair still, and he tried to breathe, but he couldn't. It hurt. He imagined his mother in pain, her beautiful, composed face contorting in agony…_breathe, breathe!_ He pictured his aunt as she had looked when she cast the Cruciatus on him…she must have had so much anger and hate in her for her sister, to be able to inflict pain on him. Why else would he matter to 'aunt Bella'? Her Cursing him had estranged the two sisters even further. Bellatrix knew his mother only kissed the Dark Lord's hem because of Lucius…he remembered the pain…and how much more Bellatrix hated his mother! She would have hurt her even more than she had hurt hm.

He let out some sound, and then Dumbledore was rummaging at a shelf behind his desk, and then a glass of something was placed before Draco.

"Here. This will help calm you."

Draco downed it without a second thought, and then he realized how stupid that was. What if Dumbledore knew he was working for the Dark Lord, and had wanted to poison him? He tried to worry for himself, to wait for any ill effects, but all he could think of was his mother, screaming in pain, and Bellatrix laughing, and Voldemort…

Surely Voldemort had ordered it. But why?

"Why?" Draco's voice sounded alien to him. Was that hollow, quiet voice his? It was devoid of emotion, and yet all emotions in the world seemed to be in him in this moment. They were a whirlwind inside him. He felt like he might be sick.

"According to Harry, Voldemort said he was angry with 'Malfoy' for not being quick enough. We do not know which Malfoy Voldemort meant…" Draco forced himself not to look away, but his eye twitched furiously, "but I imagine he meant you."

Draco scratched at his left arm, and then dropped his hand fast. He had no Mark, why had he done that? "What makes you think that, sir?" He forced his voice to be calm.

"I imagine that after your father's arrest, things have become desperate for your family. Voldemort is becoming more powerful. He is becoming impatient. He has been weakening, even – something which he has hidden, but which Harry and I know about, because we have been working very vigorously against Voldemort as of late. We began in the summer, with little trips, and things have since escalated.

"Anyway, Draco, I imagine that if Voldemort wanted something done, he would pick someone who would do it no matter what, someone whom he could manipulate easily. He chose you, because he knew that with a threat to your parents hanging over your head, and understandable fear of such a powerful wizard, you would do it. Am I right, Draco? ...May I ask what your task for Voldemort is?"

Panic rose up in Draco's throat. He breathed in deeply and stared at the floor. This was the answer that Snape had been trying so hard to get out of him, and he had not relented. But now, he almost felt like giving it. Voldemort wanted him to be quicker, but he couldn't, could he? How he could get Potter fast, right out from Dumbledore's nose?

He sat there, torn as he had been the whole time. Should he pick the love of his family, or his l…well, whatever it was, for Potter? Instinct screamed at him, _family!_ It screamed at him, _what are you thinking? Family is who you were born with, and who you were born to live for. They raised you, they taught you, and they helped form your beliefs. They made you who you are! Why throw that all away for Potter?_

Potter represented everything that was the opposite of Draco. He was Gryffindor. He was brave. He was sure of himself. Everyone loved him. And he had better reasons to be arrogant, better friends, and no family.

Somehow these reasons to hate Potter had become reasons to love him.

Draco wasn't exactly sure when he had changed his mind. It wasn't all hormones. It wasn't all envy and admiration. He was attached to the stupid, small things that weren't admirable – Potter's love for treacle tart, his awkwardness with girls, his inability to do Potions a whit, his strength in DADA, his loyalty, and his honesty. He was also attached to the way Potter always, _always_ stuck up for his principles, and always seemed to love them, and never hate them, as Draco did his own. Potter could be dense, and he could hit a nerve, but…he was also adorable, and funny, and stubborn, and effortlessly, stupidly charming…he was everything Draco wasn't, and Draco wanted all of that in his life, in his company, in his bed…He wanted Potter, more than anything else he'd ever wanted.

And Draco had wanted a lot of things.

He had thought that no want would ever top his want to uphold family honor and to keep his family safe. Countless time they'd been threatened over the years, but mostly by words. This was the most concrete threat they had ever encountered, Draco thought, besides Lucius being in Azkaban. And it came from Voldemort. Voldemort, whom Draco had promised to serve in exchange for his family's protection and for Voldemort's forgiveness.

Clearly, the Dark Lord couldn't be trusted to keep his promise. Clearly, Draco should spill everything to Dumbledore, and beg for help…but a little voice in his head said, _Don't do it. What can he do? Complete your task for Voldemort, and all will be forgiven. Your mother is still alive._

But he wasn't sure on any of it. He wasn't sure, and Merlin that was a familiar feeling. Draco wished he could feel sure about something, for once, in that way Potter always seemed to be. Was it so much to ask that his family be safe? Draco didn't have a lot of close friends; couldn't he at least have his family intact? Was that so much to ask for?

He swallowed down his self pity and said, "Tell me what you want from me."

Dumbledore lifted his head a little, and then sat back in his chair. His gaze was still on Draco. Finally, he said, slowly and carefully, "Draco…what I want from you is a decision. It seems you may have already decided. Are you going to try and please Voldemort, or are you going to let me help you? That is what this comes down to. It is up to you, of course, to decide what is in the best interest of you and your family."

Draco sat back in his chair, too, and let a deep sigh escape. He ran his hands through his hair, and noticed they were shaking terribly. He slapped them back down on the arms of the chair and grinded out, "What if they're opposite? What if what's best for my family and what's best for me are different? I, I want…of course I want them safe! I just, I can't…I can't see myself getting both things I want."

"And what is it you want, Draco?"

Draco grinded his teeth together. Then he spat out, "I don't want to kill him."

He hung his head then. It felt as if his skull was being squeezed in and was going to split at any second. And his hands were still trembling. He placed them on his knees. Why had he spoken? Now Dumbledore knew. But the fire had been sucked out of him. He'd had it for so long, but now it was extinguished. Even with the threat of his mother in danger, he could not walk out the door and work for Voldemort, who had promised he would keep them safe!

The Headmaster leaned forward again. "Who do you not want to kill?" He said quietly.

"Potter. Potter. Once he's dead, Voldemort will take over…and then everyone will be…like me."

The Headmaster's gaze seemed to soften, somehow, and then abruptly he drew himself up to stand and said, "Yes, Draco, you are right. They will be. But why the sudden thought for 'everyone' instead of just the Malfoy name?"

Draco stood up and glared openly at the old man. "I'm not a child any longer, sir. I have some humanity to me, contrary to everyone's opinions. I could say they deserve to be proven right, and slaughtered, or worse, but I've changed, at least a little."

Dumbledore's eyes were glinting. "I can see that you have. May I ask what changed you?"

That, Draco was not going to give away. He wasn't going to give some sob story confession of his hangup on Potter. How he didn't want Potter dead, not because he loved everyone, but because he loved Potter, and he wanted Potter for himself. "You can ask, headmaster, but I will not answer. Tell me what you plan to do to help me."

They sat down again, and after a long discussion, Draco left the Headmaster's office. From there, feeling buoyed by a new energy and calm, he went to Snape's requisite "helping Potter learn Occlumency" lesson, which Dumbledore had insisted he continue. Even though it would be irrelevant soon…

His stomach churned the moment he saw Potter. He pictured his mother in pain, and almost turned right around. But he didn't see any hatred there, or any glances towards his left arm. He didn't see any pity, either, which was a relief, or else he may have had to hex Potter. Instead, Potter was just looking at him a little apprehensively.

Snape cut down to the chase as usual. "Close the door, Draco. I am glad to have you present for this week's second lesson. You were not here last time. Potter's scraped knees can attest to this."

He sneered at Potter, who only rolled his eyes. Draco stepped inside and shut the door. He kicked the chair towards Potter, who was standing up, and said, "Why don't you sit down this time, Potter."

The brunette simply glared. "I can stand."

Draco snorted. "You can, but it will hurt more. Would you rather hold onto something? If that will make you feel better."

Potter shook his head, and remained standing. Stubborn fool. Snape raised his wand, and suddenly he pointed it at Draco instead of Potter. "_Legilimens_."

There was no time to summon a vision of four white walls or the Lake. Draco snapped his mind to attention though, quick, and before Snape had seen no more than some childhood memories with Narcissa, Draco had kicked him out.

He emerged, breathless, from Snape's attack. The Potions Master gave what could be called a smile. "Very good, Draco. You successfully blocked my sudden assault, though it took you a little time. Can you tell Potter how you did it?"

Draco turned his head towards Potter, who stared at him. God that gaze was distracting. "You have to want it really badly," he said. "You can't be thinking of other things you want. You can't be distracted. By sheer force of will, and desire, you stop the attack from entering. You focus on it very hard. I wasn't prepared for Professor Snape, but when I did block him, I wanted to block him very much. It wasn't with anger or fear, simply that I wanted it, that it had to be, and so I made it happen."

Potter shook his head. "Easier said than done!"

Draco tilted his head while looking at Potter. Unconsciously, because he really couldn't help it, his gaze went down Potter's body before flicking back up to Potter's face. "You resisted Imperius, for Merlin's sake, Potter. This is powerful like that. What did it feel like to resist Imperius?"

He had to admit to himself, he was curious. Legilimency was very hard to resist, but the Imperius Curse was harder. How could Potter resist that, but not Legilimency?

And he was fascinated. Yes, as Blaise had said, that was a part of his…hunger…for Potter. He wanted to know how the boy ticked. He wanted to know more – like that thing the Quibbler had published last year, about Potter's encountering Voldemort reborn, had been horrifying, but good, to read that interview with Potter and get into his brain just a little…

"Well…I dunno…I wasn't successful at first, you know…but um…it felt, well…I could still think about the thoughts that were being fed to me through Imperius, and resist it with my own thoughts, but with this…I don't have _time_ to think."

"Hmph." Snape glared at Potter. "You won't have time, either, when the Dark Lord is in your mind within a second in your sleep."

"That's just it!" Potter bellowed. "How am I supposed to think about all this if I'm asleep?"

"It will come automatically to those who practice," Snape retorted. He sounded like a cat purring to have caught a mouse – he loved to humiliate Potter.

"You should be practicing this every day, really," Draco said, then turned to Snape for support. "Right?

Snape glowered at Draco, and bit out, "Wrong. Two times a week with Potter, plus teaching him regularly, is bad enough. If you want to take him aside for concentration exercises or the like, you are welcome to. Now then – _Legilimens!_"

It was painful watching Potter. He screwed his eyes shut tight, and the spell lasted a few moments. Then Potter shouted, "NO!" and fell to the floor. Draco heard the crackle of his knees and the snap as Potter's chin hit the floor. The Gryffindor got up slowly, wiping the blood away and staining his robes.

Snape was grinning in a very evil fashion. "Oh, that is quite amusing," he said. Draco wondered what he had seen in Potter's mind. If only he himself could do Legilemency, then he could see…

Still grinning, Snape said, "Lesson done. Return after dinner to discuss tomorrow's plans. Out of my sight now."

Potter stumbled past Draco, streaming more blood, and Draco rushed to follow him. He had stalked Potter up to the next floor and nearly to a stairway when Potter finally stopped, snarling, "What?"

Draco waited for Potter to turn around, but Potter wouldn't. So he circled around until he faced Potter. Potter had healed the cut on his chin but evidently he'd forgotten his knees, because he'd been walking oddly.

Draco didn't want to bring this up, but somehow he felt like he had to. "Tell me what you saw," he whispered, "My mother. And…my aunt. The Dark Lord. Describe it to me."

Potter got that stupid look on his face again. "Why would you want to hear that?"

Draco frowned. "I don't know. I suppose I just want to make sure it's all real. It feels very…odd to me, still. All of this. The plan for tomorrow, Dumbledore's plan, and you. You and me, working on something together. And, how did Blaise come to be there last night?"

Potter frowned back. "It feels weird to me, too. Especially you being…civil to me. I almost wish you would stop it. But Dumbledore says we must, in order for this all to work…I don't get you. Why would _you_ want to defy Voldemort? It makes no sense to me. And um, Zabini…I was looking for you, because Snape was angry that you'd skipped. I bumped into him."

What would it be like for Draco to tell Potter his real feelings? He'd probably be rejected. Again. He crushed the self pity that came swarming up on him then. He couldn't think of what to say, of how to explain his new allegiances to the Gryffindor, without giving too much away.

So Zabini had just happened to be there. He hadn't been bothering Potter, as he had before in the library. Good.

It was then, while thoughtful and not really focusing on the visual, that Draco noticed it. It wasn't very obvious, unless you had secretly stared at Potter so many times that you'd notice if one detail were different. And one small detail was different.

Draco's mouth got dry and his blood rushed south. Potter was hard. He could see the tent beneath the Gryffindor's robes. Why on earth was he hard? Surely it wasn't Draco. He'd been walking funny, and avoided Draco all the way up the stairs. He hadn't wanted Draco to see…and now, as Draco stared, Potter's face was turning bright red.

Draco wondered what Snape had seen in Potter's mind. Something juicy that had turned Potter on, evidently. No wonder he'd been so amused…but Draco wasn't. He licked his lips, and pushed hair from his suddenly sweaty neck. He was feeling that tingle of arousal now. He wanted to touch Potter, to strip those raggedy robes and trousers from Potter's body and wrap his lips around Potter's hungry cock, and suck, and lick, until Potter cried out his name and shot his seed down Draco's throat.

It was like Draco was drunk again. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was grabbing Potter's arms and wrenching him forward into a kiss. For a moment he just licked Potter's lips, and then he slipped his tongue in Potter's mouth.

The Gryffindor was good, even if he didn't know what to do with his tongue. Draco kissed him fiercely, pushing his tongue against Potter's, playing with it, and then changing to tender and drawing it back. He had shoved Potter against a wall at some point, and when he started to grind against Potter, the Gryffindor groaned into the kiss.

God, Potter sounded good. He was shaking, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides. Draco, pleased with the sound Potter had made, slid his hands through that thick mop of dark hair. He tangled it more, enjoying the silky slide of it against his fingers.

He had wanted this for so long.

Potter hadn't pulled away, because clearly he was enjoying Draco's ministrations too much. He made more beautiful sounds as Draco rubbed his hard cock over the tent in Potter's robes, and with his tongue he twisted another moan out of Potter. Potter held onto him suddenly as if he might fall over without support. Draco's kiss was as powerful as a jelly legs hex, apparently. He would have grinned if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.

But Potter pulled away, gasping, and in between breaths he managed, "Malfoy…how did you…how do you…do that?"

Draco smiled. "Practice, Potter. Just like with the Occlumency. But this is much better, isn't it? I think we'll both agree it is. No Snape to bother us, and nothing hurting…unless you like it like that."

In response, Potter kissed him (was that a yes, or was he venting anger at Draco's comment?), which was shocking. Potter was actually kissing him! Merlin. He was sloppy, but good. He clearly wanted it. Wanted Draco.

Draco felt the burn of desire in his body, and he didn't think he'd been so pleased with himself in a while. Then Potter grabbed Draco's hips and pulled Draco closer, effectively allowing Draco to grind him harder. Even better.

And oh, Potter wanted it! His hands were hard and rough against Draco's body, scraping up his sides, and his response to Draco's kiss was equally ferocious. He thrust his tongue against Draco's, and explored every inch of Draco's mouth. It seemed like he wanted to taste every bit of Draco. Draco could think of other parts of him he wanted Potter to taste, mmm.

Potter's tongue was so good and hot. At the same time his hard, hard cock was pleading for attention against Draco, and Draco desperately wanted it.

He pulled away from the second kiss, panting. Potter was beautiful and flushed, staring at Draco. He licked his lips, and seemed to want to pull away. Draco didn't let him. Instead, he slid his hand between them over Potter's arousal, rubbing it. Potter's eyes fluttered shut, and he ground out, "Fuck!"

Exactly. But Draco didn't say it. Potter might shy away if he spilled everything that he wanted.

Draco rubbed harder, and Potter responded with an involuntary jerk of his hips. When Draco stopped that and his fingertips started to instead sidle slowly up and down, Potter's ragged breathing turned into a swear. He mumbled something about "stupid" and "slow" and "Merlin." His hands grabbed Draco's shoulders and shoved him, hard, so that Draco stumbled. Then with a whirl of his robes he turned and walked away.

"You need to learn some patience, Potter!" Draco called out. "I was going to finish you off!"

Potter was steaming mad. He kept walking, stomping as he went, and bellowed back, "SHUT UP!"

Disappointed and alone, Draco sagged back against the wall. He was hard as hell, and angry that Potter had run away like a pansy. But he was also enjoying the memory of Potter's moans and his rock hard cock pressed up against Draco…

Gasping, Draco almost flew down to a hidden corridor he knew about, and there, in the dark, blocked by the statue, he wanked off to Potter. When he was done, he went to dinner. He tried to catch Potter's eye during it, but the Gryffindor refused, and instead huddled with his friends. They didn't seem to know how close their friend was to death, or some version of death, coming tomorrow. Potter hadn't told them, had he?

Draco groaned at Potter's stupidity, and went back to eating.

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXXOXO_

_BLAISE_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

The day started off normal, except that Draco was up to his usual antics of disappearing places alone. He left Blaise out of it, and when Blaise tried to get him to talk right before lunch, he said simply, "Don't worry about it. It's going to be over soon."

Blaise looked at Potter to try and figure out what was going on with Draco. The Gryffindor seemed highly nervous today, spilling his food down his robes during breakfast, and huddling extra close with his friends during lunch. He didn't give a single glance to the Slytherin table, even though he was playing them in Quidditch after lunch.

Only when Blaise was alone, walking slowly behind his fellow Slytherins to see the match, did Potter seem to decide something, and change things. His dark head of tangled hair was pushing through the crowd, grumbling, and when he saw Blaise he looked up. A flush burned his cheeks, and Blaise smirked.

The corridor emptied out, and they were left alone.

It was funny, really, that Potter was into him. He liked having that level of control over someone, and Potter was so damn innocent. He'd almost been a little appealing though, the way he had stared at Blaise's naked body when Blaise stepped out of the Prefect's bathroom pool. But here, silent and red, he looked like the same bumbling Gryffindor he'd always seemed to Blaise.

Except that Draco had been right.

There was more to this bumbling fool than met the eye. He lived with Muggles, horrifyingly. Blaise wondered how Dumbledore had let that happen. And the things Potter had been through shook him and changed him, as evidenced by the scars on his body, and the trauma in his mind. He had been so upset by seeing Narcissa Malfoy tortured…and there was the way his scar had burned Blaise's fingers…

"What do you want, Potter?"

His question came out a little more nicely than he'd meant it to. Thinking of Potter vulnerable…he swallowed. He hated that Potter had this effect on him suddenly, to make him _care._ He'd been so determined to be curious or angry about Potter, if not neutral. Now he was not only more curious, and not angry, but a little softened. He had that itch that Draco had, except it didn't include lust. Or love. He hoped Draco didn't _love_ Potter…

"Um." Potter shifted on his feet. He was in his Quidditch gear already, and had clearly split away from his friends for something he felt was important.

"Um. I. Er. I wanted to s-say…thanks…for…helping me the other day."

Blaise smirked, and leaned against the corridor wall. "Thanks for helping you wank off? You're welcome. I'm sure it was the best fantasy you've had of me yet, with all that material I gave you, right? And I bet seeing me was better than your wildest fantasies."

He had only hedged a guess, but it was proven correct as he watched the sweat bead down Potter's forehead, the flush become angry, and the hard swallow, Potter's adam's apple bobbing down.

"That's not what I meant, you idiot!" Potter groused. "Here I am trying to say thanks, and you're just being a prat about it. Well, forget it."

He whirled around, but then he seemed to pause, unsure. Blaise took advantage of this to grab Potter's shirt collar and whirl him back around. "Tell me what's going on," Blaise demanded. "Something's up with you. And Draco. He's been avoiding me all day and barely saying a word. I know Quidditch is important to you both, but Merlin, this is something more. Tell me."

He didn't take out his wand for emphasis, because Potter was stuck like he'd been Imperiused, staring at Blaise with wide, wide eyes.

"I can't," he finally blurted, "Dumbledore said not to tell. I'm sorry. I didn't even tell my friends, if that's any comfort. They would hate it…"

Blaise coaxed his wand from his pocket now, and held it up in the air pointed at Potter. "Last chance," he said.

Suddenly a warm, rough hand yanked his wrist forward, towards Potter, as if Potter wanted to be spelled away. Then a strong arm wrapped around Blaise and pushed him forward, but only a step, because he resisted. Potter took the steps forward to clear the gap between them, and suddenly his mouth was on Blaise's.

He didn't make it soft and gentle, like Blaise expected from someone inexperienced. No, he communicated his want quite clearly. His mouth pushed against Blaise's hard, rough, the way that Blaise liked it, and his tongue shoved into Blaise's mouth and proceeded to devour him, ravage him, mercilessly stroke and thrust, so hard, so hungry, that Blaise was swept away on it. He found that his hands were clutching the shorter boy's shoulders. His heart was thudding in his ears enthusiastically.

He wanted to kiss back, but his mind was screaming, _what? What?_ But even the thought of Draco couldn't send away the shivers that Potter's kiss was sending through him, or the flush of arousal that crept into his body and flooded his cheeks to make them hot. He pushed his tongue back against Potter's, sucking and tasting, giving Potter all he had because Potter's kiss was thrilling and so good.

Potter's kiss was different than Draco's. It wasn't as clean or expert, but it burned like fire. It screamed so much desire and lust, that it seemed to consume Blaise with it. He was kissing back furiously, his tongue playing with Potter's, and his hand had fisted into the hair at the back of Potter's head at some point.

A moan, low and wanton, rumbled up from Potter's throat. Then he pulled away, gasping, and stared at Blaise. Blaise stared back.

A voice interrupted them, shouting, "HARRY!" from around the corner.

Potter turned away, and gave one glance back to Blaise. A little smile, sweet and cheeky, turned his mouth. Then he scurried away.

Blaise was left flabbergasted, staring after Potter. He lifted his lips to his mouth, and a croak came out of him.

"Merlin," he groaned, "That was…good."

As he walked slowly to the Quidditch match, he felt his stomach seem to drop out of him and anxiety covered any sense of wonder he'd momentarily held. Because his mind and body were on fire, and he realized with dismay that Potter had caught him.

With one kiss, Potter had changed everything for Blaise.

Now, Blaise wanted Harry Potter, too.

More soon, and plot suggestions are welcome! I'm having trouble with the next chapter. =/


	7. Chapter 7

_**Update/EDIT**: I don't know what is going to happen next! The next chapter is proving very difficult to write! This is what happens when you don't outline...*sigh* any suggestions welcome. This is a toughie. Been sick. Hopefully vacation away in next couple days will give me some ideas for how to continue this._

_For now, I'm going to start uploading my WIP Harry/Blaise fic. =) that one is so easy to write! arrgh this one is frustrating._

**On hiatus until further notice - hopefully not for very long! Please check back in a few days.**

_I can't believe this fic has 7 chapters now. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, honestly. In an effort to move it forward, I made this chapter plotty, and also tried to develop the characters. But my efforts at plot are very stupid. Please accept my sincere apologies for stupid, stupid changes to canon...I hope the next chapter will be better._

_As an aside, I would like to tell you that I"m working on a Harry/Blaise fic. Perhaps that's why this one is going a bit soggy...*wince* On a good note, I finally get the "Mistaken blows" prompt in. More like "mistaken wand spell."_

PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

By The Ultimate Otaku

_**Chapter 7**_

_HARRY_

It was utterly bizarre, but Harry was relieved that he'd been able to give Zabini one kiss before he went to his death.

Dumbledore's plan had been made hastily, he'd admitted, because he had feared that if he waited too long, then whatever Voldemort was planning to use Malfoy for would take place. What it was, it ended up, was to kidnap Harry, and Dumbledore had decided to use this plan of Voldemort's for himself.

And it was almost too late…for now, as Harry went to his death, Dumbledore was possibly close to his, having drank the poison in Voldemort's cave. It had been months since he had done that, and he was secretly slowly deteriorating month by month. Only Snape's potions work, the Potions Master had told Harry in an aside, was keeping the Headmaster alive.

It was this that made Harry accept Dumbledore's wild, sketchy plan once and for all. He knew that if Dumbledore had had time to wait to tell Harry about the Horcruxes, and to hunt them, he would have. And he knew that if there was anyone he was willing to risk death for, it was Dumbledore. But he was risking more than that. If Voldemort killed Harry and he did not return to life, or if he found out the Elder Wand now belonged to Malfoy (who had gotten its ownership by disarming Dumbledore in one of their private meetings), then the world would lose to Voldemort, right?

At least, that was what Dumbledore believed. Harry privately thought that if he were out of the way, Dumbledore could easily finish Voldemort off. Especially since they had gotten all the Horcruxes, except the one in Harry, and the snake, Nagini.

He wanted to succeed, for all of them. For Dumbledore. For Ron and Hermione. For Malfoy. And for Blaise.

As he took off into the sky, Harry decided that when the moment came and he was in Voldemort's presence, he would think of that kiss with Blaise. He hadn't mastered Occlumency, not like Malfoy or Snape, and if Voldemort looked into his mind, he might see their plan. He might know that Malfoy, not Harry, had ownership of the Elder Wand, and kill him instead.

Harry felt like he might just go insane. If he let his mind wander from Blaise's kiss (somehow he'd started calling him Blaise in his mind), it would go to Voldemort, then Dumbledore, and Ron, and Hermione…they didn't even know what was going on…Harry hated saying goodbyes. And they would have never let this happen. He hoped that if he did not come back to life, that they would be able to forgive Dumbledore for sending Harry to his death.

Only Malfoy kept him stable. Malfoy flying above him, watching him, watching for the Snitch, made him able to keep going. Malfoy was steady and serious. His eyes were like cold lightning bolts. Harry knew that this was important to Malfoy. It was his chance to redeem himself, while also saving his family. It was a huge, huge risk, because if Harry didn't come back to life like Dumbledore said he would and could, then Malfoy and his entire family would be forever under the service of Lord Voldemort. Or dead.

If Harry survived…and came back…then it would still be hard for Malfoy. Then he'd have to deal with the fact that he had brought Harry to Voldemort, but obviously Harry's survival wasn't part of the plan. Even if Harry managed to kill Voldemort with all the information he had, wouldn't the Death Eaters slaughter Malfoy in anger?

The crowd roared for each exciting point of the game, but Harry didn't care. His head was too crowded with Voldemort, Malfoy, Blaise, and his friends.

Harry took a deep breath. Reality came back to him suddenly as he saw Malfoy zooming towards him. He looked around, and saw the Snitch fluttering a ways to his right.

Now was it. The crowd held its breath. Malfoy zipped by him – Harry sped to the right – his hand grasped hold of the Snitch, which was fluttering within Malfoy's hand – he had caught it! How funny that he would catch it first, now when it didn't matter anymore…

And then the pull of the Port key hooked behind Harry's navel. Snape had done it, just as Dumbledore had instructed. He would be there to witness the thing. And Dumbledore was working to find a safe place for the Malfoys, so that when it was over, the Death Eaters wouldn't kill them.

They landed with a thump, gasping, on a smooth green lawn. Harry grumbled and cursed as he stood up. Then he fell over again, gasping, as the pain of Voldemort's proximity was too much.

"He's here," he gasped, "Just like you thought he might be…oh, god…ouch…"

Malfoy crawled over to crouch over Harry, looking at him worriedly. Then he glanced quickly around, and pulled Harry so that his head lay in his lap. What on earth? Harry winced as Malfoy stroked the hair back from his forehead, which pounded mercilessly, and then his soft thumb traced the shape of Harry's lips.

"I hope he's right," Malfoy whispered fiercely, "You'd better not die."

Then, too fast for Harry to do anything about it, he kissed Harry. It was an upside-down kiss, but it felt just as good, if not better, than his other kisses. (The only one Harry could compare it to that was as good was Blaise's kiss earlier). This time he didn't push Harry around or get rough. Instead, his mouth was tender over Harry, and his tongue stroked Harry's lips gently, asking for entrance.

Harry opened his mouth. His mind was quite done trying to figure out the whys and whats of Draco Malfoy, so if Malfoy wanted to kiss him before their worlds collapsed, then so be it. After all, Malfoy might die too, and he had some feelings for Harry…which was evidenced now, by the salt of his tears, which Harry tasted on his lips.

Somehow that struck a chord through Harry more than anything else had. He felt a stab of pain that Malfoy was so miserable, and he wanted, suddenly, to make Malfoy happy.

Malfoy's tongue was hot and good in his mouth. Harry moaned and trembled to feel it. There was something here in this kiss that Malfoy hadn't communicated before. This one was too soft, too gentle. It wasn't lust. It was something more like love.

Harry kissed back, and it wasn't because he felt sorry for Malfoy, it was because he wanted to. He wanted Blaise's body, but a kiss like this? He'd never gotten one like it. There had never been a spark of feeling in Cho's kisses…this, with the warmth and tenderness that was sliding in and through him, along with Malfoy's expert mouth, was amazing.

He thought, for a second, that if he was going to live, this was what he would want. Someone to love him and hold him and kiss him, just like this.

He had a moment to revel in it, to breathe it in, before Malfoy pulled away.

It all happened so fast after Malfoy kissed him and handed Harry the Elder Wand. Death Eaters dragged Harry inside, and Malfoy made a quick show of a smile in victory. Voldemort congratulated him, and Malfoy went to stand by his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy's was hard as steel, for she didn't give any outward sign of affection or anything for Draco. Harry cringed inside to see it, but he hoped it was just a show for Voldemort. The woman's face was startling – scars from the Cruciatus she had received covered her face in dark brown gashes that perhaps couldn't be healed. Harry could see part of her nose missing, and half an ear. He shuddered.

And then he was on. He steeled himself, thinking of Blaise, Blaise, Blaise, to make sure Voldemort didn't read the trick they were about to pull.

Harry raised the Elder Wand. He heard Voldemort cry out; he saw the shot of green light –

And then he died.

_DRACO_

It took every ounce of Malfoy composure Draco had ever learned, to keep calm when Potter fell dead. His mother didn't look an inch towards him, as he slid his hand into hers. That gesture was enough to tell her a lot. Draco hadn't ever revealed his feelings for Potter – Harry, Harry – to his parents, but his mother knew him well. She might have known that all of his bluster was only to hide what he really felt, and from a wounded pride at being rejected.

Draco looked down at the floor, rather than stare into a glassy pair of green eyes. He heard the victory crow that Bellatrix let out.

Voldemort had fallen back, and he pushed Bellatrix away as she tried to help him. "Quiet," he hissed. "Is he dead?"

He looked towards his left, at Draco. Draco felt his knees almost knocking together, but he gathered himself up, and forced himself to step forward. He hadn't known he would be asked to do this. He knew Snape was watching from amongst the crowd, and felt a breath of relief come to him at the thought. He couldn't be angry at his godfather anymore, not now, not when Snape might be the only person in the entire assembly, besides Draco and his mother, whose hearts were not sworn to Voldemort…

Draco's heart was sworn to the dead boy lying on the floor in front of him. He took in a tight, choked breath, and knelt down.

Unbidden, involuntary, his gaze shot to the green eyes behind those cracked glasses. They were empty and bereft of light. Draco's entire body wanted to tense up; he wanted to scream, and cry, to do something.

But he drew his gaze away from that emptiness, instead, and checked the pulse in Harry's wrist.

Nothing.

"Dead," he heard himself croak. Then he returned to stand next to his mother.

It was all a whirl then. Voldemort was laughing, harping his victory, and as he gloated over Harry's body, there was the revelation, just as Dumbledore had hoped – he knew the Elder Wand, he took it from where it had fallen, and assumed in his mind that Harry had had its ownership, and that now he did. Bellatrix was grinning, Death Eaters congratulated their master…

And then wizards and witches that were against Voldemort appeared, summoned by Dumbledore's order, getting through because of his powerful magic. Battle broke out, and Draco immediately hurled himself to guard his mother, and shut them up in a closet that was behind a table in the drawing room.

He got one moment with her, in which he gripped her shoulders hard, and said, "Mother, I swear, if you leave this closet for one second, for anything…"

Then he wasn't sure what. What could he threaten to do that would be bad enough? He would dishonor the Malfoy name? He had already done that by being a coward and by loving Harry Potter. He had already done it a thousand times in his mind over the years.

His mother understood. A little smile turned up her lips, and she said, "Go."

Draco had a moment of joy and relief. His mother, whom he had always loved more than his father, approved of his switching sides. Then he whirled out into the chaos of the battle, and out of the room. He ducked under curses, rolled over bodies, breathed in their stench, the screams, and heard the groans of pain. He bounded up the stairs all the way to the roof.

He had no Gryffindor courage. He was panting in fear the moment he saw the giant snake coiled in a spell. He took a deep breath, and murmured the spell that Dumbledore had taught him, which would break the shield Voldemort had given the snake, Nagini. It worked, and he breathed in relief.

Draco wasn't Harry. He couldn't summon the Sword of Gryffindor. But he knew where plenty of old heirlooms were in the Manor, and he summoned one of those. The snake slithered towards Draco, and his hands trembled so hard he almost dropped the sword. Nagini rose to strike, and Draco lunged forward.

The sword eased through the snake like a knife through butter, as smoothly as an arrow thunking into a target. The head dropped to the ground in front of Draco, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He flung the sword away, and tried to wipe away the blood that had gushed to cover his hands. It was thick and wet on his chest, and, he suspected, may have spurted into his hair.

Then it was all he could do to not faint. But he had to get back. If Harry was alive, he had to see him, and return to him the holly and phoenix feather wand (which Draco remembered from the article on the triwizard champions in Fourth Year). If Harry was dead, he had to save his mother from the wrath of Voldemort, because, as Harry had explained briefly, Voldemort felt it whenever a Horcrux was destroyed. He was already angry with Draco's family.

Feet stomped up the stairs. Draco spun around and shot a nasty spell back towards the intruder. It was deflected with a hiss, and bounced against the stairway rail. Then the intruder stepped onto the roof and revealed himself fully.

Blaise. He was the most disheveled and furious that Draco had ever seen him. His face was almost red with anger. Draco suspected it wasn't because he'd almost just been hit by Draco's spell. There was something else. He marched with his wand held out, and Draco thought he was going to be cursed away.

But instead, when Blaise got close enough, Draco saw the sadness that burned somewhere in there along with the anger. He felt sick still, and he didn't understand anything, so he asked, "What?"

Blaise stared at him, and stared. Draco couldn't stand it, but he couldn't look away, either. Finally Blaise spoke.

"You really love him, don't you? I can…I can tell, now. You're a coward and everyone knows it…Merlin, you're exasperating as hell…" Blaise ran a hand through his hair. "But you did this. For him."

Blaise sighed. "You came over here, you betrayed everything your father taught you, you faced the Dark Lord again, death…and you left your mother down there, to do this, and help him. If…If I was just into you for your body, I wouldn't care. But I guess I'm more stupid than I thought, because I do like you, enough that, if you say the word, I'll give you Potter, even if I…I like him, a little, too. You can have him. But good luck, because he's into me, and I think he still thinks you're devil incarnate or some such."

Draco sat down, hard. He rubbed a thumb over his wand furiously fast, and then blurted, "He's alive?"

Blaise nodded. "I think so. He's just faking dead, lying there, and waiting for the right moment."

Life whooshed back into Draco.

"I…I want to see him," Draco breathed, "Please."

He let Blaise help him, and guard him, all the way to Harry, where he tucked Harry's wand beneath the still-prone body. He resisted the urge to stand there and look for signs of breathing, and returned to the closet where his mother reluctantly remained. It was there, staring out at everything through a gap between the door and the wall, that Draco tried to give time to what Blaise had said.

Blaise was giving Harry to Draco. And apparently he had, in a way, "had" Harry, because Harry was attracted to Blaise…

His gaze moved away from the gap, and roamed over the dark Slytherin that had become a strange companion recently. Blaise Zabini was a selfish, self-serving bastard who wouldn't give anything to anyone, and he never gave up when he wanted something. He wanted Draco. But he was giving up Draco, because he knew Draco wanted Harry…and he liked Harry, too? Was he attracted to Draco _and_ Harry now?

Draco licked his lips, and unbidden, a ridiculous, alluring image came to his mind of all three of them together. If only Harry…

He turned back to the gap.

He stared down at Harry, willing him, _Please be alive. Please. Please. I'll do anything if you do it. I'll be nice to your stupid friends. I'll stop forcing kisses on you. Hell, I'll stay away, if that's what you really want…but you have to live._

He felt the warmth of a larger hand slide into his, and gripped it hard. Blaise.

He watched familiar jolting green eyes open wide.

Harry Potter stood up.

The battles did not stop, as he fought the Dark Lord whom he had been haunted by, knowingly and unknowingly, for almost all of his life. But Draco and Blaise saw it all, and so did a few others.

They saw as Voldemort battled Harry with the Elder Wand that he thought was his. They heard as he was torn apart by Harry's well-placed words. They breathed in deeply when another flash of green signaled Avada Kedavra.

And they stared, and stared, as the spell rebounded. Voldemort fell lifeless to the floor, and lay there like an ordinary man.

Blaise stood up. Draco felt a pang of regret to have his warm hand leave. He was stunned, and couldn't say anything, but in the light of _lumos_ he saw Blaise glance down at him. He heard as Blaise said, "There. Deal finished. You can do as you wish."

Draco stood up and blurted, "Why? Why would you give me up? And – and him?"

"Because, I'm tired of wanting people who don't want me back. I'm tired of not being satisfied. I'm tired of struggling with you, and your damn lovelorn ways, and him, with all his mystery and intrigue and stupidity.

"Did you know he kissed me today? I suppose it was his idiotic way of saying goodbye. Well it was annoying. It made me…want him, but I don't want to want him, because of you. Because I was supposed to have you. But I don't, and I'm not going to get with him and torment you. I'm not that sick. So I'm just going to step out. Literally; I'm going to go join this battle. Don't worry, I'm not being suicidal. I just can't stand sitting here with you in a stuffy closet, with your mother of all people hearing all this tripe. I've got to go."

That said, the tall Slytherin slipped out of the closet and into the fray.

Draco found himself watching both Harry and Blaise, when they appeared and reappeared in the room. He watched them fight (Harry) and slay (Blaise) Death Eaters, those who remained and hadn't fled when Voldemort fell. He watched Snape save Harry narrowly from Fenrir Greyback, who had leapt out with terrifying speed, and he watched as Blaise blasted a Death Eater with a gruesome spell that made the man turn literally inside out.

But it was he, he himself, who stood up when Bellatrix Lestrange opened the door. He had never dueled beyond that mockery in Second Year, but suddenly he found himself calling up hidden vestiges of strength and knowledge, because he would NOT let his aunt kill his mother.

Snape joined the effort, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Narcissa too, and then, terrifyingly, Blaise. Draco really did not want Blaise to die, he realized. He was even a little fond of Blaise, having seen a new side of him just now. They fought Bellatrix together, all of them, but it was Narcissa who said the final spell that made Bellatrix fall and not get up again. She smiled in grim satisfaction down at her sister's body.

Everything ended soon after that. Bellatrix had been the one to rally the Death Eaters together. Draco sat back down. His mother, bizarre as always, pulled up a regal chair from the room and sat on it, prim and quiet. He sat ungainly, slumped against the open closet door, just trying to breathe. He was exhausted and confused, and even breathing was difficult.

And then, too soon for Draco's disquiet to handle, Harry's voice was right by him. Softly, gently, the green-eyed Gryffindor asked, "Are you okay? Have you been hurt?"

Draco wanted to say something. He wanted to make an excuse for why he had barely fought. He wanted to say, 'thank you for fighting Bellatrix with me.' He wanted to say something scathing and mean. He wanted to tell Harry not to pity him.

But instead, he just opened his eyes, and looked straight up into that luminous green gaze.

"If you're going to be kind to me," he found himself saying, "be kinder, and let me kiss you one more time, before you leave. I know you like Blaise; he told me so. But he likes me, and won't take you, because I want you. It's total bollocks, this whole mix-up…I don't want to be in some sham of a relationship. Or even a good fuck with bad feelings afterward. It's not worth it. Go back to your stupid friends."

Again that adorable stupid look, then Harry shut his eyes, and his brows furrowed. A sigh came out of him, and Draco tried to prepare himself for the second rejection in his life from Harry James Potter.

Instead, the boy opened his eyes, and gave Draco a beautiful grin. "You know Hermione isn't stupid," Harry said, "And Ron can be, but not always. So I'd like you not to lie about that. Thank you for telling me what…Blaise…said. Um…I…"

He spoke really fast suddenly. "I don't know what to do either, because," he gasped, "I do want Blaise, but, since we started working together, um, you're different, and it's not all that bad, and if I squint and pretend I never met you before you're good in other ways, too."

Draco remembered to breathe after a moment. "In what ways?"

The green gaze slid up and down Draco's slumped, tired figure, and told everything. A blazing desire flared up in Draco, but then, as if he could feel it on his neck, he looked away from Harry, and towards another intense gaze on him.

Blaise. He was across the room healing a wounded fighter, and his gaze needled on Draco and Harry with intense, crackling jealousy.

Draco looked back at Harry, and said, "Look, I know you're shy. But…I have an idea. I'll tell it to you right here, if you're curious."

"I'm always curious."

So Draco made him lean forward so he could whisper, and his mother obediently looked away. He told him his stupid, inane, ridiculous idea about the three of them together, and was shocked when, instead of laughing his arse off Harry smiled, and said, "Can we start with being friends first?"

Draco nodded dully in shock. This was more than he could have ever wished for. He followed Harry in a slow shamble when the Gryffindor insisted, later, that they go talk to Blaise together.

Today was the oddest day ever.

_Please tell me what you think. But then again, maybe not...ugh, this chapter. I swear I'm not fishing for compliments. This chapter bugs me. But I needed something big, I needed plot progress, and I'm working on other fics..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for taking FOREVER to update! Here's a long bit from Blaise..._

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

by The Ultimate Otaku

_CHAPTER 8_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOX_

_BLAISE_

Blaise was sipping at a bowl of soup in a lonely corner, boiling inside while keeping a cold front without. The soup was too hot and burned his throat, but he kept drinking it, because it matched the anger he was feeling.

Partly he was angry at himself. Why in hell had he given up? He never gave up. He never should have allowed Draco to get Potter, or to get anything. He should've kept on trying to get Draco. And he should've never told Draco about that stupid, good, confusing kiss Potter had given him.

It had all changed when he saw them disappear suddenly from the Quidditch match. Chaos had broken out, but Blaise, remembering what Potter had said before he kissed him, had rushed to Dumbledore. He'd sortof broken down in front of the Headmaster, which was embarrassing, but at least he hadn't cried. But he had certainly broken his cool, yelling at the Headmaster, and demanding answers. He might have thrown in something desperate and true about not wanting Draco to die.

Something he'd said had gotten through, and Dumbledore had revealed the inane thing he was doing, using Draco's task for the Dark Lord to get Potter to confront the Dark Lord, and then there was a load of information about horcrux somethings…

Blaise hadn't cared about Dumbledore's stupid plan. He'd simply wanted to get to Draco before the idiot got himself killed. And Potter was an idiot that Blaise didn't want to get killed either…but Potter was Potter, and he had to face the Dark Lord, and there was nothing Blaise could do about that.

He'd had time to think, because Dumbledore had forced him to wait, and as he sat slumped in the beautiful office, he'd come to the conclusion that had led him to the utter misery he was in now. He would give up Draco, because he didn't want to be with a Draco who didn't care for him. And honestly? He thought if Draco could get Potter to like him, they would make an interesting couple. They had parts of each other that flared and rubbed the wrong way, but they were also similar in some ways. There was potential for chemistry.

And Blaise did not, not, not, want to be tormented by any more silly ideas about himself being with Potter. The idea was ludicrous. He couldn't believe it had crossed his mind at all. Better Draco have to deal with Potter's shyness and burning kisses and everything in-between, then Blaise.

He drank in the last gulp of his soup, and almost choked on it. A familiar pale head of hair, accompanied by a mess of black, was drifting through the crowd straight towards him.

He considered Apparating, but they reached his spot then.

Blaise stared coolly at the pair as they sat down in a window seat across from him. They did not sit like a couple, nor like people entirely comfortable with each other. Well that was normal. They were both stubborn idiots, and he hadn't expected them to be all over each other at once. That would come later…

He gritted his teeth and the word, "What?" slid out between them somehow.

"I had an idea," Potter said, "Um, actually, it was his." He stopped, giving Draco an utterly flabbergasted look.

Ugh. Blaise was tired of Potter's cluelessness with everything. This was the person who had just KILLED the Dark Lord? Merlin…life was strange.

He gave Draco a piercing, waiting look, and tapped one foot on the floor from his chair.

"We all want almost the same thing," Draco said. Blaise could see him struggle to put a sort of diplomatic or student face on, as if he were talking to Snape or his father. But he couldn't hide his nervousness entirely. He scratched at his robes with one hand.

"I want…Harry, and you admitted that you liked both of us. And Harry…isn't quite sure, either. So my idea was that the three of us…well it was a sort of odd fantasy with all of us together…"

Blaise was grateful he had no more soup left, because he knew he would have spewed it over both of them this very second. As it was he almost started yelling. Instead, he laughed, loud and long, and when he was done, he stood up.

"That's a fantastic fantasy you have, Malfoy," he smiled, "I hope you two have fun with it."

He left his empty bowl on the window sill, and started to walk away.

A clutter, a stomp, and then a warm hand grabbed his arm and twisted him back. No. No. Blaise had to admit it; he'd twisted back to look.

Stormy green eyes stared at him. "Wait," Potter gasped, "Just wait a second. His idea is odd, I know, but aside from that…what if we could just…try being decent to each other?"

Blaise stared Potter down with something of a frown. He didn't like where this was going. It was some strange area that Potter liked to play around in, where everyone was happy and things would work out, except this was real, and life never made things "work out". This idea was impossible. So many things could go awry. And _could_ they even be "decent to each other"?

"No," he snapped, "We can't. Malfoy thinks I'm a whore, and I've done nothing to prove otherwise. You just want to see me naked again. And kiss me. And you're excited that I said I liked you. And you're an idiot, even if an awfully lucky, odd idiot who just did something brilliant, and…frankly, it's just hair-raising, in a bad way, to think deeply on your idea."

"Malfoy's idea," Potter corrected. He gripped Blaise's arm tighter when Blaise made to pull away. "And tell me why I'm such an idiot, please."

He sounded a little put-out, and he hadn't denied anything Blaise had said, so it must all be true. That made Blaise smirk. He was tired of Potter being so happy and getting his way, just like Draco always did.

He decided to start with that. "You're overly optimistic and immature. You're irresponsible and unreliable. You're overly confident in one moment, and a pining, clueless puddle the next."

Potter was shifting a little uncomfortably now, and that only made Blaise plow onward.

"You're as easy to read as a book, but you have all these secrets which you've managed to keep hidden. Points for that. But you keep stupid, annoying friends, and you're extremely biased, in general, and especially against Slytherins. You're quick to blow up, and slow to catch on. You're stubborn, so much so that you won't change your mind on something even if it's pointed out how unreasonable your side of things is. You waffle around, and I hate being waffled with, and I don't like being involved in your stupid indecisiveness. Just decide already."

The last part came off snappish, which Blaise didn't like. It showed too much that he cared, instead of being cool and composed.

Potter rebounded quickly from being stomped on so much. "I've already decided. I want to try and get along. With both of you. I think there's potential for…something, I'd regret having to walk away from this chance, honestly."

Blaise wanted to tell him to get used to regret, then. He wanted to pull his arm away and walk away. But he didn't want to be miserable and lonely in a corner again, no matter how he'd convinced himself a second ago that he wanted that. And Draco was looking at him over Potter's shoulder, in a very pleading sort of manner. Meaning he wanted it, too, or he wouldn't lower his pride to give Blaise that face. It made Blaise want to fuck him hard against a wall and hear him whimper.

He moved his glance from Draco to Potter, whom he stared at long enough to make the Gryffindor blush. He remembered the kiss Potter had given him, and couldn't deny he wouldn't mind another taste of it. But he could live without it. Couldn't he?

He imagined the three of them together, in bed. It wasn't a half bad idea. And he imagined the three of them talking like friends…well, he tried to. It was difficult. He had to imagine something between the bumbling, simple fun of Potter's two best friends, and the sarcastic, mean jokes of his fellow Slytherins. It was an unusual scenario, but he could dimly picture it. It felt…like it might be good.

Blaise sighed. He shook his head at both of them, for being convincing together even in their faults. He assented, "Alright. We'll give it a try. But if it explodes in flames, don't blame me. And if any tears are shed, I am officially gone."

Potter smiled, and Draco nodded. Blaise turned towards them more, and Potter's hand remained a little longer than necessary on his arm. He went to stand between them, and then said, "Give me your hands."

They consented. One scarred, tanned, bony hand, with one pale slender one came into view. Blaise said, "Okay. I'm starting this. Potter, you have to tell us about your mysterious Muggle family life that sucks shit. Draco, show me your left arm, now, because we have to know, and nothing will get started unless we do."

Immediately both looked reluctant. Potter was frowning, and Draco was angry. "Fine!" he shouted. "Here."

He shoved his left arm forward, and let Blaise peel the sleeve of his robe back. Blaise noticed the way Potter's attention needled there immediately.

Draco's arm was blank. There was no Dark Mark. Blaise looked at it, and then at Draco's face. The other Slytherin had a pleased expression, but there was still the anger of the accused flashing in his eyes.

"Glamored?" Blaise asked.

He watched as a becoming flush worked its way into Draco's cheeks. "No. I never got it."

Potter's voice was hollow with something like relief. "Close call."

"Your turn," Blaise said, turning his face to Potter. He summoned bowls of soup for them from the conjured table, and they sat down together in a window sill.

Potter sounded like he was being strangled, and his face turned red in anger. "I, I don't want to talk about this. It's…I haven't even talked to Ron and Hermione about it much…simply said, I live with Muggles, and they're horrid, not because they're Muggles, but just because of who they are."

Hmmm. Interesting. Blaise looked at Draco, who wore the same intrigued look on his face that Blaise probably had. Blaise didn't really know what to say in response, so he simply patted Potter's arm once, saying, "Alright. We'll stop with the questions."

For a while, they just sat awkwardly in silence, drinking their soup. Potter slurped it loudly, which made Blaise smirk, and Draco rolled his eyes.

Then Potter blurted out, "Um, what else should we do?"

As it turned out, they did not get the chance to answer that question. Draco was spirited off with his mother to some safe place. Blaise was not told how long he would be gone, and knew he couldn't write letters to Draco wherever he was going. This bugged him, but there wasn't anything for it.

Things might have gone back to normal – before Draco had kissed Potter, before Blaise had enjoyed Potter's kiss – except the entire world was different, with the Dark Lord dead. More and more people in the mornings at the Great Hall were reading newspapers. Announcements about Death Eaters caught were flashing across headlines. Parents who feared for their children's safety, thinking Death Eaters would attack Hogwarts – to get at Potter – were pulling their children out of school, from every House.

For a week, it was not definite whether Potter would stay, because of this possibility of his presence being a danger to Hogwarts staff and students. But when he continued showing up at classes, and started being summoned for meetings with the Headmaster less, Blaise figured what everyone else whispered about – Potter was staying at Hogwarts, because what was safer than being under the watchful eye of Dumbledore?

And really, they whispered, did the boy-turned-man (or superman)-now-he'd-done-great-things need any protection? Why fear Death Eaters, when he had killed their master? Rumors circled, inside Slytherin and without, about the secret powers Potter had been hiding.

Blaise knew better, but he kept his mouth shut. He laughed as Potter was accosted daily by crowds of adoring fans. They kissed him and hugged him, they asked for autographs, they piled gifts on him. Potter often walked into the Great Hall red with embarrassment, lip marks from girls on his cheeks. He began to wear a perpetual scowl morning, noon, and night. Every morning was chaos at the Gryffindor table as Potter received loads of mail – love and hate, gifts and danger alike.

One day, Potter was in the hospital from a nasty potion that had arrived in an envelope he'd opened (idiot). Another day, Snape put him in detention because he'd been forced to haul a load of boxes of gifts to class, in order to make it to an early Potions class. And on yet another day, Blaise heard a rumor that Potter had taken to going out flying, alone at night, in order to get away from all the attention.

Unlike the image that Snape (and, in the past, Draco) had of him, Potter was turning out to be quite the opposite of an attention whore. Blaise watched him. He saw the way Potter pleaded with his adorers to leave him alone. He witnessed Potter struggle to not yell at some younger students when they cornered him between classes, and foist arms off of him. His friends weren't always there to help him out, try as they might. Potter was, if anything, more vehement with his admirers when his friends were absent. Blaise suspected that was the pressure of Granger's whingeing sympathy and Weasley's irritating jealousy.

What was funny was that Potter seemed to mind the positive attention more than the negative. When it came to insults hurled at him across corridors and the Great Hall, he ignored it, unless someone called Granger a Mudblood. When Slytherins attacked him, he became the calm leader, directing his friends where to stand and suggesting defensive spells.

Perhaps he had it in him to be an Auror after all. Blaise wondered.

Because of the truce, because he couldn't resist, and because he admitted he was a little jealous over how many people got a becoming flush to run across Potter's face, Blaise took to following Potter, secretly. He told himself that it was because he wanted to protect the idiot, and not because he was developing a creepy fascination like Draco had. No, he was just keeping his end of the truce they were holding, which Potter had asked for so desperately.

He had no qualms against hitting his Housemates with jinxes and hexes before they could reach Potter and spring another attack. It was good practice. It was even good fun. He never openly opposed them, keeping to the shadows, but he tried to prevent them from hurting Potter. There was too much on Potter's plate already. One only had to look at Potter to see the attention was exhausting him. If Blaise wasn't watching out for him, he could be hit by a nasty spell, because of not being totally alert.

Because of his mother's reputation and his strict privacy and personal space rules, Blaise escaped most of the conversations held amidst his fellow Slytherins. He was relieved. Just being in the Slytherin Common Room was like being in a room of angry cats hissing at each other. Everyone was tense, whether their parents were affiliated with the Dark Lord or not. Most if not all were frightened, and it seemed daily now an exasperated Snape showed up to break up another fight between two members of Slytherin House. Sometimes they were even public, outside of the Common Room.

In the second week after the Dark Lord's demise, House Points were docked from students who flocked around Potter. Professors began to patrol the corridors so that students could not congregate to harass Potter positively or negatively. It became nicknamed "Potter Patrol," and the first time Potter found out about it, he was visibly angry. His face turned red, and he swore something in a vicious aside to Weasley and Granger, and then left with anger in his every rigid limb.

The extreme lack of whorish desire for attention in Potter became attractive. Anyone else would have been at least a little pleased, a little proud, but not Potter. He seemed to loathe the attention. Obviously, he'd gotten so much over his lifetime, it was enough to make anyone sick of it. But where was the sense of triumph in him? He had killed the Dark Lord who murdered his parents. Shouldn't he be happy?

Maybe that was just something Blaise wasn't privy to. Potter probably celebrated privately with his friends and fellow Gryffindors.

Blaise didn't go out of his way to talk to Potter. Yes, they'd made a truce, yes, he was curious, and yes, he even remembered that burning kiss sometimes. But Potter wanted this more than he did. Same with Draco wanting Potter. Blaise, having given up on the both of them, was caught in the middle. Potter should make the first move, if anything was going to happen.

They met with each other accidentally late one night. Blaise was wandering the drafty corridors with a heavy cloak, slow in sleepiness, but caught by insomnia. He was on the Third Floor corridor when the yawning of portrait people was interrupted by a series of bangs, and a yelp of pain. It came from the next floor down.

Blaise leaned over the railing. His eyes had adjusted to the dim candle light, and he could make out Peeves clattering chairs together and tossing them against the walls. He didn't see Blaise, for he rushed up the corridor to the left, shouting in a song at the top of his lungs:

"Clumsy student sneaking around

Peevsy heard him make a sound

Hit him with a chair he did

Now where is that stupid kid?"

A quick sweep of the corridor didn't reveal anyone to Blaise. He turned his head to the right, and the left, and saw nothing. Hmm. What was that all about? Probably some stupid First Year had squirreled into a broom closet or some such with its tiny body and was hiding now.

He kept walking, and at the top of the stairs, he saw it.

A flash of ankle, all alone, with nothing connected to it, which quickly disappeared into nothingness again. Aha!

Blaise leapt forward down the staircase, and grabbed at seemingly thin air. But soft cloth yielded to his hands, with a body underneath, and Blaise whisked it away with a grin of victory.

"Potter," he breathed, "You creeping scoundrel. What are you doing? If I hadn't been coming from the opposite direction, I'd think you were following me."

Red-faced at being caught, half of one arm still invisible because of his Cloak, Potter said, "Well, maybe _you_ were following _me. _You've sure been doing a lot of that lately." He was breathing heavily from running, and holding a spot on his side – from running, or from being hit by Peeves' chair?

Blaise smiled, and looked over Potter's night clothes. They were a pair of thick blue flannels, and strangely enough, they actually fit him. They were a very boyish thing to wear to bed, not at all befitting a sixteen year old, and they made Blaise laugh.

"Cute outfit. So you noticed my following you?"

Potter flushed more, which was annoyingly sweet, and crossed his arms across his chest. He had his wand in one hand, and a piece of paper sticking out from a back pocket of his trousers. "So you admit to following me. I knew it. Will you stop it? I can take care of myself!"

"Oh, I know," Blaise murmured, and then he leaned over to try and snatch the mysterious paper from Potter's back pocket.

"Hey!" Quickly Potter dodged away and his wand lifted and pointed at Blaise. "Stop that!"

"Hmph." Blaise crossed his arms and then got an idea. Smirking, he took the Cloak and put it on himself.

He'd never tried one on, or even seen one. This was amazing! It was surprisingly easy to breathe in, and silky on his skin. Blaise quietly crept up the stairway, waiting to see what Potter would do.

"Damn it –"

Potter leapt forward, and Blaise tried to dodge aside, but Potter was too fast, and too annoyed at getting his precious Cloak snatched. He bowled into Blaise, and only a quick spell stopped Blaise from slamming his head on the stairway. Laughing, he collapsed on the stairs with Potter half on top of him.

Potter stared down at Blaise, and it was amazing how intensely green his eyes were. Blaise simply sat there, waiting for Potter to make a move, but the hero was shy now, or too indignant about the Cloak being taken. He took his Cloak and got off of Blaise, instead of doing something more interesting like giving Blaise another kiss.

Wordlessly Blaise got up and started walking. Potter followed him, which wasn't very surprising. It was so easy to manipulate someone who had a crush on you. How delightful. But why did he have to look interesting, with his hair even more wild, and his eyes sparkling and more alert than they'd been in two weeks? Then there were the pajamas. Blaise bet Draco would die if he saw them. They were childish, but they showed off more of the shape of Potter's body than anything else Blaise had ever seen him wear. Robes were too billowy.

Blaise hooked his arm around Potter's and dragged him into a dark classroom. He whispered a _Lumos_, and sat Potter down in a chair while he sat on the table in front of it. Everything was dusty, and it made him sneeze.

"Tell you what. If you show me your mysterious paper, I'll kiss you."

Potter swallowed, and shifted in his chair. Then he seemed to make some resolve, for he bit his lip and said, "No."

"Alright." Blaise pretended to think, shifting from side to side on the table. Potter was deciding to be stubborn and try to be in the right, or stick to his principles, or some such hogwash thing. If Blaise let things continue on like this, Potter would never make a move. It seemed he was insecure when it came to relationships beyond his friends.

Quickly Blaise leaned down, and yanking Potter up by the soft collar of his pajama shirt, he kissed Potter, hard.

He made it slow and languorous, exploring that warmth and wet. He slipped his tongue against Potter's to create a moan, and when he pushed harder, another, deeper moan. Mmm. Potter sounded good. Blaise knew he'd be in trouble if Draco knew about this, but he'd wanted to kiss Potter for a while now, and he could only stand repressing himself for so long.

Besides…Blaise slid one hand down Potter's back, down in a slow, circling arc…and snatched the paper out of Potter's trouser pocket. He pulled out of the kiss and backed up off the table, and by the time Potter realized what he'd done, he had opened the paper up.

Blank?

Blaise turned around to a glowering Potter. He waved the paper, which Potter snatched from his hands. Blaise sighed. "So what is it, really? Spelled with a password, right?"

Potter nodded, and put the paper back in his pocket. He seemed to want to give Blaise that much, after Blaise had kissed him.

Blaise moved in closer, but Potter was wary now when Blaise's arm went over his shoulder, bringing his cloak along to drape around Potter.

"Aren't you cold? This doesn't seem nearly enough for a cold castle at midnight," Blaise said, picking at Potter's pajamas. He didn't know why he was suddenly being so nice to Potter, except that Potter was especially enjoyable to tease.

Potter tried to shrug the cloak away, but then he seemed to give up. He sighed. "Do you have to be a typical Slytherin and make me wonder what your ulterior motives are?"

"Oi." Blaise held his up his hands. "At least I gave you the best kiss you've received in the past two weeks, right?"

Potter laughed, nodding. "Yeah, there is that."

Blaise settled them in a squishy, dusty couch in the corner of the room. "I'll give you another one."

Potter blushed again, and looked at Blaise. "What's the price this time?" He tried to sound cool and calm, but failed utterly.

"No price," Blaise said, "Not one Knut."

He leaned in before Potter could say something about other prices. Potter's left hand had the blank paper in it, and he held it high in the air, as if Blaise's arms weren't longer than his. Then Blaise kissed him again.

He lingered over Potter's lips, noticing how they were soft and bitten from anger, and he bit them further, eliciting a moan. He let his tongue drift over Potter's mouth, marveling that such a popular, famous person was so freakishly normal (and yet not), and he wondered what he could do to get Potter's fire again. He wanted the fire in the kiss that had been there in their first.

He thrust his tongue hard in Potter's mouth, swirling and shoving, drinking Potter in. That got a response. Potter lunged in a little, wrapping his arms around Blaise's neck and grabbing fistfuls of Blaise's hair. He arched his body up into Blaise's body, groaning as their tongues entwined.

Blaise slid his hands past the button holes of Potter's shirt, and touched the soft skin there. Potter jumped at the touch, practically upsetting the entire thing. This made Blaise curious, but he also wanted Potter to calm the hell down. Virgin. So he pushed his hand in, snapping buttons off, and swept a soothing stroke down Potter's chest.

It wasn't working. The Gryffindor made a strangled, hungry sound into the kiss, and his heart beat quicker beneath Blaise's fingers. Merlin, that only made Blaise want him more. He ripped open the collar then, and began to give wet, biting kisses down Potter's neck. His thumb edged over a hard nipple, and he pulled Potter up, and over, so that the smaller boy was ensconced in his lap and easy to reach.

Potter arched up to Blaise's touch. He panted heavily at Blaise's ministrations on his neck, and he tugged at Blaise's hair. When Blaise created a hickey at the junction of his shoulder and neck, he laughed, "That's going to make them wonder."

His hands moved down from tugging Blaise's hair to pushing down his back. Then, in a quick, nervous motion that was also greedy, his hands swept up to Blaise's front and crept beneath his shirt.

Blaise jolted back. "Shit, your hands are cold!"

Potter laughed, even as his hands continued to move up, exploring Blaise's torso. His fingers were long and callused from Quidditch, and they moved slowly. He seemed to want to memorize the feel of Blaise's skin. Blaise let him linger, even though he was cold. His own hands moved down Potter's torso, and then Potter flinched when his hands reached Potter's right side.

"What is it?"

"Peeves' chair…ow."

Potter lifted his shirt up to look at the wound, and Blaise took advantage of the gesture to whisk Potter's shirt off of him entirely. There was a red welt on Potter's side, and the area was evidently quite tender. But it seemed mostly a surface wound. Blaise was good at diagnosing wounds; he'd seen his mother torment her husbands with Cruciatus many a time before killing them, and as a boy, he had used to try and save some of them from the pain.

That was before he'd realized she killed them, not that they "left," and before he'd given up on changing her ways.

"It's just a skin wound." And Blaise bent down to lave his tongue over the mark.

"Ooh, that stings." But Potter let Blaise continue anyway. And he let Blaise settle his hands over his hips, and made a delicious whimpering sound when Blaise pushed his tongue over a nipple. Potter's hands were tight on his shoulders, and he moved closer to Blaise's body, and then, bravely, delightfully, his hungry tongue was licking up Blaise's neck, and his teeth nibbled Blaise's ear.

Blaise moaned appreciatively as Potter sucked over his ear in slow, hard sucks, and swiped his tongue all over. He felt the heat of lust trickling into his limbs, and contemplated Draco's theory that he didn't know how to make friends, only how to be a whore.

Maybe Draco was right. Wasn't he ready, in this moment, to seduce Potter, and mostly for the pleasure he got from Potter's virginal ways and mystery and blushing? He wouldn't be doing it for Potter. And Draco would be furious. He would hate Blaise forever, and Blaise would never get to kiss him or talk to him again. And Draco loved Potter.

Even though he felt good right now, he wouldn't feel good later, if he kept on with this. So Blaise pulled away, and gently pushed Potter off his lap.

"Look," he said. "We made a deal with Draco. About being civil. And…I shouldn't just indulge myself. Or you. I…"

He took a deep breath. "I'm not good at getting to know people. And it seems like that's what you want from me. More than this," he gestured between them, "attraction."

He licked his lips. There, he'd admitted it. He _was_ attracted to Potter.

Potter scratched his head, and then put his shirt back on. "You're right," he said. "I do want more from all this. Thank you for admitting that. And um…the kissing and all, um…thanks. It was a de-stresser."

Blaise smiled. "No problem."

They sat there, looking at each other, and Potter looked contemplative and pleased at the same time. Then he pulled a small Chess set out of his pocket and say, "Play you a game?"

Blaise was sorely tempted to roll his eyes, having seen Potter and Weasley play Chess obsessively, but he nodded anyway. They set up the pieces, spelling them not to fall out of place. Blaise played White, Potter Black. He moved a pawn out to start freeing space for his queen, and watched as Potter moved a knight out.

Ten minutes later, and Blaise was impressed. Potter was good. He should be, because Weasley was good, too, and they played it so much. But he had learned Chess years ago, and Potter was actually holding his own against him very well. He didn't foolishly sacrifice pieces, nor did he take forever to make a move.

Five minutes later, and he was almost beating Blaise. Blaise was hunched over the board, chin on his fists, staring, calculating strategies. Potter sat back on the couch, smiling.

"I've got you," he declared, "fair and square."

Blaise held up a finger. "Not yet." He made his move.

Potter looked. "Damn," he growled.

The rest was lightning quick. Blaise almost lost, but at the last moment, he caught Potter's last rook, and then it was all over.

"Checkmate," he breathed, and smiled over at Potter.

The Gryffindor swore and crossed his arms. He scowled at the final formation, at the pieces Blaise had taken, and then laughed. "You're good! How long have you been playing?"

Blaise put the board aside, and lay back on the couch. He elongated it so his legs could stretch out and not entwine with Potter's. "Years. Since I was little."

"Ron, too. He used to play his brothers all the time, especially Bill and Charlie. I learned from an old chess set Dudley threw away and left the instructions by."

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "Dudley?" He laughed. "What kind of name is that?"

Potter bit his lip, gnawing it in his teeth, and seemed to answer reluctantly. "He's my cousin. It's stupid, and so is he."

Blaise breathed in slowly so as to not reveal his interest. "Oh. Your Muggle cousin?"

Potter nodded. "Yeah. He gets loads of things every birthday, and a Chess set was one of them. I played against myself, until I met Ron. And I hadn't played wizarding chess before meeting him, either."

"How boring. So it's really all that bad, living with these Muggles? Your mother's blood, right?"

Potter frowned. "My aunt, yeah. Anyway…" He shifted uncomfortably against the couch, and Blaise could tell he wished he hadn't said anything, and usually didn't talk about this.

"Let's go exploring under your Cloak. I'd like to try it on again."

Potter brightened. "Alright. Where to?"

Blaise paused, and then handed Potter his chess set back. "I want to explore the castle's secrets. Don't you know some?"

Potter raised his eyebrows, and then with a turn of his head he said, "I might." The smile on his face gave away that he definitely did.

Blaise laughed. "Great subtlety, Potter. Show me."

They edged off the couch, and Blaise bent down a little so Potter could whisk the Cloak over his head. They both fit, surprisingly.

He grinned. "This thing is amazing…" Combing fingers down the edge, he caressed it, wishing he had one of his own.

Potter grinned back. "It is. Alright, come on. We have to walk at the same pace so it doesn't fall off…and hang onto it a bit…make sure your toes aren't poking out…"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

He followed Potter out of the room and down the corridor. Down, down they went, and for a while they were silent. Then Blaise said, "So, how do you feel about Draco finally catching the Snitch?"

Potter blinked, and then protested. "That! That wasn't a win. It was a Portkey he caught – I mean the Snitch was turned into one – and then we both went to Malfoy Manor, so…it doesn't count."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "It does too. He caught the Snitch first. Your hand was second. It was his catch. And it's still a Snitch, even if it was briefly a Portkey. They decided Slytherin won, besides. So you're just being a sore loser about it."

He couldn't see Potter's expression as they were now walking, but caught the frown in his voice. "I guess. Anyway…I've beaten him loads of times, one win isn't much."

Blaise laughed silently at Gryffindor pride. "But one win is a start."

Potter shrugged. "I suppose. Except…I'm not going to let him 'start,' I'm going to beat him."

Blaise laughed outright. "I guess the truce doesn't count for Quidditch, does it?"

Potter shook his head, and smiled. "Of course not." Then abruptly he said, "Are you hungry?"

They had stopped in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit. Blaise had never seen a more boring painting in Hogwarts – actually, maybe ever. Most of the Hogwarts paintings he'd seen were of people. Why fruit?

He looked sideways at Potter, catching the secretive smirk there, and smirked back. "I could be…why?"

He was in fact not really hungry, but his curiosity demanded he be, at the moment, for the sake of finding out what Potter was hiding.

"Well, I am. And this is the kitchens. Come on."

He said a password to the portrait – "Itchy feet," and it opened soundlessly.


	9. Chapter 9

_Dear readers...Merry Christmas! I am sorry for being such an awful fic writer, not updating...I won't even give any excuses, because it's simply been too long. At this rate, zero reviews and zero attention is what I deserve. I am sorry, you've all been enjoying this fic and my let-downs keep getting worse. But finally, here is an update!_

_o_o this fic will be done soon...I'm already in other fics...! ack! I do want to get these 3 together more emotionally, but...this chapter is, er, a very physical chapter...don't say I didn't warn you!**  
><strong>_

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_Chapter 9...?_

Blaise followed Potter into the kitchens. It was hot in here! He threw off the Cloak, and looked around. House Elves rushed forwards, platters of pancakes and hot pies and jugs of warm pumpkin juice in their hands. One thrust a pie in Blaise's hand and a plate of pancakes in Potter's free hand, and Blaise had time to take in the large expanse of room and the squeaking of Elf voices before he was urged by the mass of little bodies into a chair by a crackling fire.

A goblet of pumpkin juice was poured out for him and put in front of him. Blaise took in the good smells, and leaned back in his chair. "Mmm. Good service."

"You is too kind, sir! We are happy to please you sir and Harry Potter sir!"

Blaise smiled and nodded. Potter had packed up his Cloak and sat across from Blaise, digging into his pancakes. He smiled at the House Elves, nodding, and shooed them away with a few too many thank yous. But suddenly one piped up from the back –

"Harry Potter, sir! You is here! Dobby is so happy! Dobby has been waiting for you to come again!"

Potter laughed as a small House Elf piled with badly-knitted gloves and a stack of hats on bowled into him, grabbing onto his leg like a rabid dog. Blaise laughed at the weird display, nearly spitting his pumpkin juice.

"Potter, who on earth is this?"

Potter flushed, and looked up at Blaise as he tried to pry the House Elf off of him finger by finger. "Er, this is Dobby, er…"

"Dobby?" Blaise laughed loudly. "Are you serious? That old Malfoy House Elf?"

The House Elf edged away from Potter's leg and looked up sourly at Blaise. "You is friends with my old Masters…sir…is you not?"

Blaise looked at Potter, who looked tense, and then back at the suddenly grumpy House Elf. "I am, Dobby," he said coolly, and then for Potter's sake he added a smile, "But I was never a fan of Lucius."

That warmed up the little guy a bit. His eyes widened, his frown left, and he looked with those huge eyes from Blaise to Potter.

"You is friends with Harry Potter, sir?"

Blaise took a deep breath. He wasn't really friends with Potter, no, but then again, he wasn't trying to seduce him at the moment, and well, damn, he supposed he did like him. That's what being friends was, really – liking someone, without any of the deliciousness of sex involved. Argh. That's what Draco said Blaise wasn't good at friendship. He really wasn't a nymphomaniac or anything; he liked conversation and games and whatnot as much as anyone else…but the act of seduction, and that moment of sparkling, burning attraction, were addictive to him.

"Friends, sure," he said finally, and dipped his head in Potter's direction.

Potter nodded, as if he'd been waiting for Blaise to say it. Dobby smiled, and asked, "Harry Potter, sir, how is Harry Potter's Hermione and Weezy friends?"

Blaise snickered. "Weezy!"

Potter laughed. "They're good. How are you, Dobby?"

Halfway through a dizzying summary of life as a Hogwarts kitchen House Elf, right when Dobby was starting to glorify the awful hats and gloves which Blaise found out were Granger's handiwork (figures), Potter said, "Okay, Dobby, okay. I'm glad you're happy. Thank you for coming to see me. Um, I will come again. Maybe Blaise will come with me…"

Blaise downed the rest of his pumpkin juice, and leaned back, pushing his hair out of the way. "Sure. Why not."

A while later, with the House Elves nearby but not quite hovering, and with Potter done eating, Blaise said, "So. How did the Malfoy House Elf get here?"

Potter proceeded to tell him the story. Blaise laughed at the sock part, and nodded to the bit about Dumbledore's kindness (just to make Potter happy). He chose to say nothing about Granger's House Elf Liberation Front (Merlin!), and when Potter was finished, he waited for Blaise to respond more.

Gryffindors were so much more talkative. Blaise leaned on one elbow, gazing into the fire. "I never liked Lucius. He's got all the problems Draco has, tenfold, and more. He's arrogant, cruel, and he thinks the world should revolve around his tastes and opinions. I've seen him do Cruciatus – on one of my 'lovely' visits to Malfoy Manor as a child – and I think he holds a lot of anger in. Draco has anger and bitterness, too, but he can't hold it in – he's always lashing out, as you know. Lucius' composure is all a fraud. He's secretly furious whenever things don't go his way. Narcissa is calmer, though she can be an icicle. She doesn't manipulate as much as Lucius does. She speaks her mind."

Potter swirled his spoon in his mug. "How long have you known the Malfoys?"

"About ten years now. We'd meet at functions; I was about six and a half when I first went over there. We played, like other children, but it's much more controlled and composed than what you see with Muggle children."

"Repressive."

Blaise shrugged, ignoring Potter's tone – it said that he thought Muggle's free lifestyle – ruled by all their contraptions – was better than any attempt to squeeze nobility of bearing and elegance into children. But he didn't understand; Purebloods were like royalty. With power, you had to look good, and that included your children; so as a Pureblood child, you couldn't be playing all the time. At least, that was the standard kept up by families like the Malfoys and Zabinis. The Weasleys were a whole different story.

"That Chamber of Secrets, with the diary of Voldemort and all…is it still around?"

"Er, yeah. Yeah, it is. Want to see it?"

Blaise stood up and pushed away from the table. "I would. But I bet it's one of the grandest things around here. Maybe save it for another time."

He watched the flush that rode itself down Potter's face, and held back a smile at the squeaked, "Another time?"

Blaise nodded. "Yes. You see, I can't sleep…often. And sleeping potions just get old after a while. So…I figured we could meet up again. Why not here? Besides, you look tired."

Potter shook his head. "I'm, I'm not…" He yawned. "I'm not tired."

"Hmph. Right. Listen, you don't have to sacrifice anything for me. Go to bed."

Potter stumbled his way off of his chair, and pulled the Cloak from his pocket. "I don't really feel like sleeping."

Blaise doubted it. What Potter really wanted, he knew, was more time with him. Against his wish, he felt a keen satisfaction at the thought.

"Tell you what," he said, "Walk me to your House entrance. I won't share where it is with anyone. That way I make sure you don't bump into anything and alert Peeves again."

Remembering, Potter put a hand against the sore spot on his side. "Alright."

Blaise followed him silently up, up, down corridors, past snoozing paintings, and all the while he was thinking. He really did want to do this again. Potter was good spending time with. He wasn't dull, he wasn't currently being stupid, or rash, or waffling. And he knew a lot about the castle; Blaise could feel it. Exploring the castle at night was just the entertainment Blaise needed in the midst of insomnia.

And seeing Potter in his ridiculous, more fitting blue pajamas wasn't a deterrent, either.

They stopped in front of a portrait of a fat lady. Rolls of fat drooped off her arms. Her head was like a pink tomato about to burst. Her blonde hair was rumpled in sleep, as she lay with her head down on her hands.

Blaise smirked. "_This_ is the way to Gryffindor? I'd thought it would much grander. At least someone dumb but trying to be brave, like Sir Cadogan."

Potter crossed his arms. "The Fat Lady is great, actually. She's a lot of fun, and not nearly as annoying as the Slytherin entrance."

"What?" A flash of annoyance dashed through Blaise. "You've been in our common room? Without anyone knowing?"

Potter smiled. "Of course without anyone knowing. Even Malfoy didn't know I was there, and he was in the room."

Blaise grumbled something. "You used the Cloak?"

Potter shook his head. "No. It's a secret."

Blaise sighed. "Another one? Must I bribe you again?"

And he grabbed Potter's Cloak, threw it over them, and there, in front of the snoozing Fat Lady, with no one able to see, he kissed Potter again. He let his frustration come through a little, making the kiss hard and forceful. Potter gripped his shoulders, moaning. When Blaise lingered, when his tongue stopped dueling and started caressing, Potter's hands clutched tighter, and his kiss in return was fiery – there! There it was. That was what Blaise wanted from him.

He pulled away, gasping, and Potter gasped too. They stared at each other under the Cloak. Blaise took in Potter's flush, his wet lips, and the drowning green of his eyes. He wanted more of this. He wanted more Potter. No wonder Draco had gotten obsessed. He was something…not in the sense that he'd killed the Dark Lord, not in the sense that Blaise had his full attention – though that was pleasing – but in the sense that he was fun, unpredictable, and a good kisser.

Potter cleared his throat and whispered, "Can we do this again?"

Blaise smiled. "What part?"

Potter laughed breathily. "All of it."

"Yes. But there's no need to whisper, idiot. If anyone'd been around, they would have heard you moan."

Potter's face turned red. "They'll just think it was a ghost in the wall."

"That? I wouldn't think so. It was a very distinctive kind of moan."

"Well," Potter was snappish now but his eyes were laughing, "It was _your_ fault! And I won't tell you the story. Not yet. Later. I'd like to tell Malfoy, too."

Blaise remembered Draco suddenly – he'd forgotten him a bit now, hadn't he? – and the promise he'd made ages back, that he'd deliver Potter to Draco for Halloween…funny, how different circumstances were now…but Halloween was coming up close.

"See you tomorrow," he said. Slipping out of the Cloak after combing the premises, he hurried down, down, down, back to the dark dankness of Slytherin Common Room.

_HARRY_

It was Halloween day, and Harry received a letter from a mysterious owl. It had been a couple of weeks since he'd really started to befriend Blaise Zabini.

The owl was a beautiful tawny thing, delicate, and she looked up at Harry with big eyes that begged for a treat. He gave her one, and whispered several spells over the letter. He'd opened enough dangerous ones down in the Great Hall to know to be careful now. But this was the first one he'd received straight in Gryffindor Tower.

"Did you spell it?"

Ron looked over Harry's shoulder. He'd been awfully annoying lately, burning with jealousy over all the attention Harry was getting. It wasn't as bad as it had been in Fourth Year, but it was still bad. Harry had dreams at night of all the people he wished could see him now, free from Voldemort, free to pursue anything or anyone he wished. He missed Sirius more lately, with a great twinge-ing pain in his chest, which made it hard to breathe sometimes.

It was made worse by the fact that Dumbledore was dying. The potion he'd taken by Voldemort's cave lake was killing him slowly, in a withering fashion. He was losing the ability to move, and in the past couple days, he couldn't even speak. He simply looked at Harry over the rims of his moon spectacles, and smiled. The smile made Harry angry – how could he smile, when he was dying? – but it made Harry want to cry, too.

"I spelled it," Harry said, snapping back to the real world. He opened the scroll carefully, and read the cryptic message there:

**I've arranged for a surprise for us tonight, and Dumbledore promised me he would help. Meet me in our usual spot at midnight. If Weasley is reading this, tell him the Bloody Baron sends him greetings.**

The letter was not signed. Harry wanted to swear and laugh at once. Blaise! Damn him! It was just like him to instigate trouble. He had a sense of mischief, even if he could be the quiet type. He had known Harry would be around people if he sent it to Gryffindor Tower, but he had also ensured that Harry himself read it, rather than have the Ron-and-Hermione team read it in the Great Hall and throw it away. They'd been helping him sort through his loads of mail.

What was Blaise trying to do by forcing Harry to have to explain to his friends? It wasn't like he and Harry were together. They were just friends. And as far as Ron was concerned, that would be bad enough.

"What's this all about? Got yourself a secret lover?"

Ron grinned. Harry grinned back. He wouldn't give it away with nervousness. "I wish," he laughed, and tossed the letter aside. "This is just another prank. A Slytherin, obviously."

When Ron wasn't looking, Harry scribbled a quick reply –

_See you there._

For the rest of the day he was a little antsy, but because people were still accosting him in the halls occasionally, and because it was Halloween, his friends didn't ask why. Harry was relieved. He was tired of being bombarded with so much attention – Merlin, would they ever stop? Or was this going to be his _life_ from now on? What would happen when he graduated Hogwarts? He couldn't wait until he saw Blaise tonight.

Blaise. Already he'd started calling him Blaise instead of Zabini. The Slytherin didn't mind, smiling. Harry sat in his last class of the day, thinking back to when Blaise had first called him Harry. They'd been launching over a boulder within the old Chamber of Secrets, and Blaise had said, "Harry, when was the last time you were here?"

Then he'd flushed a brilliant red and snapped at Harry and called him "Potter" several times after, until Harry had hugged him before they parted later in the night, and Blaise had ruffled his hair and said, "Harry, you're a sentimental drip. Add that to my list of points against you."

Harry had only laughed.

Sometimes they argued. Just a few nights ago, they had argued over the importance of Defense Against the Dark Arts theory. Blaise argued about its importance, whereas Harry cited all the times he'd escaped Voldemort out of sheer luck with simple spells like Expelliarmus or without knowing the proper theory behind a spell. But then he'd remembered how Lupin had had to explain Patronus to him, and the year before, when Bellatrix had laughed at him for trying to cast the Cruciatus on her and said you really had to mean it. He would have no idea of the spells without the theories behind them.

Blaise had won that argument. They hadn't really broached deeper subjects yet – testy questions, such as the history of Blaise's mother, Harry's Muggle upbringing, or what on earth they were going to do when Malfoy returned and they were…like this, without him.

"Mr. Potter. I suppose you think that being the hero of the wizarding world now makes you exempt from having to pay attention in any class, since you know everything already. Well not my class, Mr. Potter. Detention for you. Ten o'clock. Cleaning the corridors in the dungeons. I want to see them shining."

Harry jolted up and glared at Snape, swallowing down any comment he might say to cause Snape to stretch his detention longer. How could he clean the corridors in two hours in time to meet Blaise at midnight?

Ten p.m. came and went. It was eleven thirty, and Harry was only halfway down the last corridor, and he knew he wouldn't finish in time. It took hours to clean these corridors, especially without spells. Harry hoped Snape didn't expect him to clean the ceilings, too. The floors were bad enough. Dust and blood and newt eyes and random gobs of paper and who-knows-what littered every cranny and crack. Harry's fingers were raw from hours of scrubbing, and his knees hurt from being on them for hours.

He swore as half an hour later, he still wasn't done. Blaise would be waiting now.

What was the worst that could happen? Snape could give him detention for the entirety of Seventh Year, Harry didn't care. Blaise had a surprise for him. Yes, he'd only really known Blaise for two weeks, but it was the most fun he'd had with anyone in a long time, and the only possibly romantic relationship he'd had since the doomed Cho experience and some mild Ginny flirtation. He was sixteen, he was free of Dark Lords, so by Merlin, he would get another detention and he didn't care.

Harry whipped out the Invisibility Cloak and sped down the halls. When he arrived, panting, he almost bowled right into Blaise.

"Where were you? I thought maybe Weasley and Granger had stopped you from coming."

Harry gulped in breath, and let the Cloak slide off of his head onto his shoulders. Swallowing, he followed Blaise down the corridor, saying, "In a word, no. In another word, Snape."

"Oh?" Blaise raised a brow, looking at Harry. "What did you do now?"

Harry licked his lips and smiled. "I was just thinking about you and daydreaming in class."

Blaise rolled his eyes, but a flush burned his cheeks. "Merlin! You are such a sappy sod."

Harry punched him in the arm. "You like it though, don't you?"

Blaise rubbed his arm and grabbed the Cloak from Harry. "Well, I have my limit. Daydreaming is alright, but crying is another thing. If I hated it, I wouldn't be here, would I? It's different than how I've seen you act in the past."

"You watched me?"

Blaise shook his head. "Not like Draco. Just…because everyone else was. I was curious. I'm curious, like you are."

Harry stood before the gargoyle up to Dumbledore's office with Blaise beside him. What did Dumbledore have to do with this surprise? He hated seeing Dumbledore these days. He couldn't help wondering each time, if this would be the last. But he loved seeing him, too. It was wonderful to sit with Dumbledore and talk about nothing, sometimes, instead of about everything.

"Speaking of curiosity, why are we here?"

Blaise smirked. "You'll see."

He whispered the password and they travelled up the staircase to the office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk. The old man looked older than he ever had before. His mouth sagged in a permanent almost-frown, his back hunched more, and though his eyes still twinkled, they were tired.

He managed to smile when they came in though, and summoned two chairs.

"I see that Harry is clueless still as to what this is all about. You haven't told him, Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise shook his head. "No. I wanted it to be a surprise, sir."

Dumbledore smiled. "I enjoy surprises, at times. I hope Harry enjoys this one. Harry, are you up to staying up late this Halloween?"

Harry nodded. He tried to avoid noticing the way Dumbledore's breath wheezed in his chest, and how his words came a little slower. The wizard finally seemed his age, however old that was.

"I am, sir. But what will we be doing?"

Dumbledore smiled. "It is not we, Harry, just you and Mr. Zabini. Now let me see…"

He turned, slowly, with difficulty, and rummaged behind him, and then came up with a small hair pin and placed it on his desk. "There."

Harry wondered where Dumbledore had gotten that, and why on earth he had it. He thought, there were far too many things he wondered about Dumbledore, which he had never asked…he pushed his mind away from darker thoughts, and said, "A Portkey? Where to?"

Blaise took Harry's hand. "Surprise, Harry. Come on."

He reached forward, and Harry copied him. In a whoosh, there was the familiar tug, and they were gone.

They arrived in a chilly room, with candles all around. It was a small living room, with two shabby, threadbare couches and one solitary, stuttering lamp. The cracked brick fireplace was ablaze. The walls were a dark, plain wood, and the floor was cold tile with only one solitary rug. The rug was blue, but for the red phoenix bursting from its middle in red and orange streaks. It was the fanciest thing in the room.

But what stood out the most was the person that sat in a chair across from the fireplace. He turned his head, and then stood up to gesture lazily around.

"Welcome."

Harry wanted to wince at that familiar drawl, but instead he laughed. Draco Malfoy looked healthy and well, his cheeks pink from the fire, his hair neatly combed and startling in the dimness of the room. He looked Harry up and down, and then looked over at Blaise.

"Thank you for the enlightening letter."

Blaise smiled and plopped himself down on a chair to Harry's left. "You're welcome. How's life as a fugitive?"

Malfoy scowled. "It's boring, and the place is shoddy as can be. The good food is the only decent thing about it; zero entertainment, can't go outside, and I'm starting to itch from all the wards. How are things at Hogwarts?"

There was acid in his tone, especially when he asked about Hogwarts. Harry looked over at Blaise. What had Blaise said in this letter? He felt nervous that this was going to be his Halloween. Yes, he wanted to be friends, but Malfoy hadn't been around lately, and whereas Harry felt on good footing with Blaise, he wasn't sure on Malfoy. Maybe he would grow up a bit from staying in this place that couldn't compare to Malfoy Manor. Harry hoped so, even though Malfoy wanted him…and then there were the tears he'd cried when he thought Harry was going to his death…and that loving kiss…

Blaise kicked out at Malfoy's leg and smiled in a very catlike fashion. "Jealous? I'm sorry. I couldn't leave him alone to deal with all those crowds. You should see them. They even kiss him, or they did, before the professors got stricter."

Malfoy's face turned pink, and his gaze flicked to Harry. He said shortly, "That must be annoying."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise cut him off, "It was, until I gave him a couple better ones. That was what I didn't tell you in the letter. But -" he held up a finger against Malfoy's silent rage, "I brought him here, because I thought of you. So be grateful, and don't whine."

Harry felt his neck heat up. This was so weird. It was like they were fighting over him. And it was all about lust. Or at least that was what he could gather. Malfoy was outraged about the kissing, not about Blaise spending time with him.

"Look," he said loudly, "Will you two stop it? You're like Ron and Hermione. Shut it."

Malfoy bristled, but then he sighed and closed his mouth. He sat down on the couch, and Harry joined him.

"So." Malfoy folded his hands over his knees. Maybe it was a calming gesture. He looked straight at Harry, and his eyes were full of longing and anger and maybe a bit of hurt. "I've missed some fun at Hogwarts - explorations with the Invisibility Cloak, something about a mysterious map, and jokes and other fun. Can we make up for it a little? Give me something to look forward to if you two ever show up here again? I don't know how long I'll be here."

He said it all in a whoosh, and when he was done, his gaze on Harry became even more intense. Harry squirmed, and then stopped. This was _Malfoy_, for god's sake; he wouldn't let him rattle him.

Blaise cut in with a sigh. "He wants you to kiss him, Harry, for Merlin's sake. Don't be as dense as your cousin."

Harry blinked. Of course Malfoy would be the jealous type. He was far too used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. Harry smiled at Malfoy. "You're really the jealous type, aren't you?"

Malfoy licked his lips. "So what if I am. Are you going to do it, or not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Impatient, too."

He felt a little strange and uncomfortable, being again the intense focus of someone. But there was more behind Malfoy's gaze than that thirstiness for some piece of the Boy Who Lived. He really, really did seem to want Harry's attention – in a desperate sort of fashion – and he had helped Harry in the final showdown with Voldemort, hadn't he? And then there was the kiss that had given it all away…his feelings, his real self, bared to Harry in those moments.

"I'm doing it on the condition that we don't spend all night sniping at each other," Harry said solemnly. The other two nodded.

Blaise was watching. But Harry leaned in anyway…

He wasn't sure who touched the other first, him or Malfoy. The blonde's mouth was soft and pliant at first, allowing Harry to taste him with his mouth and explore with his tongue. He held onto Harry's shoulders with a firm grip, but it didn't hurt. Then Harry slipped his tongue in, shyly, slowly. He leaned in further.

Malfoy accepted the gentleness of the kiss, his tongue caressing Harry's in return. A small moan came from him, and involuntarily Harry felt curiosity and lust rise in him. What other sounds could he bring from Malfoy?

He pushed harder, too hard, so that he fell across Malfoy's body. Now the blonde was groaning, and his arms wrapped around Harry, one hand plunging into his hair. His kiss became suddenly fierce, stealing Harry's breath and any resolve he'd had to make this quick and simple. His tongue became playful in Harry's mouth, teasing touches in one moment, thrusts in another. And his hands moved now, down Harry's sides, and he yanked up Harry's robes (Harry was grateful he had Muggle clothes on underneath), and then Harry's shirt, until he could touch Harry's skin.

Oh! His touch was a hungry frenzy, but his fingers were perfectly soft. He teased fingertips up Harry's torso and down again. He grabbed Harry's hips and wrenched him closer. He panted against Harry before diving in for another kiss, and his hands traced over Harry's body, even over his thighs and arse and up his back. He clasped the back of Harry's neck and then fell away from the kiss, gasping.

He grinned up at Harry, and his blue eyes sparkled. "Now _that_ was what I call fun."

Harry laughed. Malfoy looked good with his hair messy – when had Harry run his hands through it? – and his face flushed. He actually had a genuine smile on his face for once, too. Harry traced it with a finger. "I liked it," he answered huskily.

Malfoy looked pleased. Harry tried to get off of him, but he grabbed Harry forcefully and pulled him back down. Harry looked over at Blaise.

The other Slytherin had changed his posture so that now he had one elbow on one knee, and his chin in his hand. His other hand gripped the arm of his chair a little too tightly. He looked back at Harry and pronounced, "That was interesting."

He sauntered over to them then, and twisted his way between the two of them, against Malfoy's protests. Now he sat between them. He leaned back against the couch, an arm each across their shoulders, and grinned.

"I like seeing you two together. But, we promised we'd talk," he said, looking pointedly at Malfoy.

The other Slytherin frowned, and swore. He crossed his arms and sat like the petulant brat he was, and Harry felt a twinge of the usual annoyance at his attitude. He also felt bothered that Blaise had gone between them, but, really Blaise was right. They had agreed to be friends, and friends didn't snog all over each other (although he hoped Ron and Hermione would, some day). They shared. And, it had been _his_ request that they try and be civil to each other, to make some semblance of friendship. Talking would help these two stunted Slytherins more than kissing would.

Although kissing was certainly good…

Malfoy broke the awkward silence. "How's the old man?"

Blaise laughed shortly. "My old man's been dead a long time."

Malfoy hissed, "I didn't mean _that, _you idiot. I meant THE old man."

Harry understood immediately. "You mean Dumbledore?"

Malfoy nodded, and summoning a chair, he sat down on it so he could face Harry and Blaise. He put his feet between them, and his arms were still crossed as if to communicate that he still held a grudge against Blaise for separating he and Harry.

Harry looked down at the floor. He didn't want to think about Dumbledore. He had told Ron and Hermione the Headmaster's condition, and Hermione had cried all over his shoulder, and Ron had stared into the fire, and Harry had felt like crying and raging at the same time. He didn't feel comfortable letting that all out in front of these two, so he stayed quiet.

Blaise answered quietly. "He's not doing well. He looks like he might keel over at any second…" A dashed glance at Harry before Harry went back to staring at the blue carpet, "Not sure how long he has left."

"Oh."

"Oh" was all Malfoy had to say on one of the greatest wizards alive dying. Anger rose up inside Harry, and he tried to hold it back for the sake of their truce, but he couldn't quite contain it. His hands balled into fist and his teeth gnawed at his lips. He continued staring down at the floor, but the magic in him wouldn't let him hide his upset. A vase on the table to his left shook, and then crashed to the floor.

The two Slytherins looked at him, and Harry glared back at them. He snarled, "That's all you have to say? '_Oh'_?"

Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it. His face reddened with what seemed like anger, until he said in a quiet whisper that had some bit of shame, "I'm sorry. I respect him, but I don't know him. How can you expect me to feel the same as you do?"

Blaise spoke up. "He's undeniably a very great wizard. He defeated Grindelwald, for one. You can tell just by looking in his eyes that he's great. But, Draco's right, sorry, Harry…he just doesn't mean the same to us."

Harry nodded, and took a deep breath. "I know. Sorry. I just…sorry."

He clenched his jaw so that the emotions sweeping through him wouldn't come spilling out. What would he do without Dumbledore? Snape's potions were easing the Headmaster's pain, but that was all he could do. Harry wished he had killed Voldemort before they'd gone in that stupid cave, but they'd had to get all the Horcruxes first.

A warm arm descended across his shoulders, and Blaise pulled him in close. Harry was surprised. Hadn't Blaise said something earlier about Harry being a sentimental sod? And he didn't like crying, not that Harry was there yet. Blaise had specifically said that if anyone cried, he was 'out' of the truce.

Malfoy's niggling foot rubbed for a moment over Harry's knee, and then his hand replaced it. Harry shut his eyes and let himself be comforted by them, and tried to blank out all of his thoughts.

He liked the sensation of Blaise hugging him. It showed a tender side And he was surprised that Malfoy cared at all. Well, good. Malfoy was continuing to show better colors, hopefully true colors, more than he had at any other time Harry had known him.

He slid out of the hug and pushed Malfoy's hand off. Then he looked squarely at the blonde and said, "So. How are you? How's your mum?" He knew it was an obvious change of topic, but he couldn't stand the coddled, comforted feeling for very long.

Malfoy instead answered the unspoken question that came after that. "My father is still in Azkaban, as far as I know, unless he's thrown himself to the Dementors when he heard that the Dark Lord died." His lip curled in disgust. Harry was surprised he didn't reveal more emotion than that at the idea of his father having his soul sucked out. Surely he was hiding a more emotional reaction. "My mum's alright. She misses home. I miss my bed…it's loads better."

Harry cracked a smile. "Your Hogwarts bed, or the one at home?"

Malfoy smiled. "Both are good."

"Ha! You have the best bed in the entirety of the Slytherin Sixth Year room. He has a lake view," Blaise told Harry.

"I've seen your Common Room," Harry said, "and found it gloomy."

Immediately Malfoy's eyes brightened and Blaise smirked, "Really? When?"

Harry told them about the time in Second Year that he and Ron had polyjuiced themselves as Crabbe and Goyle and snuck into the Slytherin Common Room to find out whether Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin. The two laughed heartily at his description of panic when Ron's hair started turning red again, and the way Malfoy could tell that something was a little off, but didn't realize who he was talking to.

Malfoy grinned. "If I was the same as I was then, I'd be furious. But now I think it's funny. Clearly, the Dark Lord was the heir…"

He paled then, and Blaise leaned forward. "What is it?"

Malfoy's lips moved, but he said nothing. Then, "Just…the damned snake. I hated it. And I hated killing it…" his hands clenched in his lap, and then he looked up fiercely at them, as if they had caused his moment of edginess. "It's done now."

Harry could tell Malfoy didn't want to look like a coward in front of him. Funny, that, when he'd been cowardly in front of Harry so many times before. The pride in him forced him to hide it now, even in face of their truce of friendship.

"You hated the Parseltongue, right?" He remembered hearing that from when he'd spied on them in the library.

Malfoy nodded a single nod, and frowned down at his hands. He looked like he was possibly biting his tongue to stop from snarking at Harry.

Blaise's eyes lit up in that curious, hungry way they did. Harry liked that look on him. "Can you still speak it, Harry?"

Malfoy's gaze flicked between them to hear Blaise call him Harry again, but he said nothing. Harry felt angry at Malfoy for being so close-mouthed, but he also felt bad for him because he probably still had nightmares, as Harry did, about any and all times he'd seen Voldemort. And Malfoy still couldn't say Voldemort, either.

In answer, Harry stood up. He leaned down beside Malfoy's chair, and reached one hand, automatically, unthinkingly, to brush over the nape of Malfoy's neck. The blonde shivered and shut his eyes.

"I can try to change what you associate it with," Harry said. He winked at Blaise, and then leaned in more.

"_Dragon,_" he hissed, speaking to the snake on Malfoy's ring and to Malfoy at the same time, "_Wake up. We aren't enemies anymore, even though we aren't quite friends either. Wake up from the past…It's done now, like you said. Listen, and let my words sink in."_

The last part was from some old book Hermione had been looking at earlier. And the rest was from his head. He pushed his nose down the soft smoothness of Malfoy's hair, and then his mouth was over Malfoy's ear, kissing gently. He heard the blonde gasp. Two slender pale hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

When his tongue reached out to lick slowly, Malfoy's elbow jostled Harry's hand, and he gasped again. Harry licked harder, longer, and even as he was whispering, again Parseltongue, _"Wake, wake,_" the snake was inside him, a coiling snake of lust.

Harry interspersed kisses with his licks, and bit down gently on Malfoy's ear lobe. The Slytherin tilted his head closer and moaned at Harry's ministrations. He sounded good. Harry drew back and then dove in again. He found his fingers were pulling down the collar of Malfoy's fancy robe, and he suckled the skin of Malfoy's neck. His other hand was rubbing over Malfoy's chest.

The blonde suddenly reached up, and tried to pull Harry down over him but Harry's winter robes tangled with the arm chair. In a moment, Malfoy had spelled Harry's robes away, and when he pulled Harry down over him, Harry was in his blue pajamas.

"Mmm." Malfoy studied him, and brushed his hand down the soft material. "Where did these come from?"

His hands reached down. Grabbing the hem of Harry's shirt, he yanked it up and off of Harry. Then he was kissing Harry, so hard it hurt, so fast Harry couldn't breathe, but he liked it, and that snake of lust was growing and hissing in Harry now. Blaise moved to stand behind him, stroking long-fingered hands in a massage over Harry's scalp, and pressing the long sinuousness of his body up against Harry.

Sandwiched between the two, Harry had no room for thinking about Parseltongue anymore. He found himself kissed and licked and touched by eager mouths and hands. Malfoy was drinking him in kiss by kiss it felt. Blaise's warm hands edged up and down Harry's back, before descending suddenly beneath Harry's trousers to grope at his buttocks.

"Mmph," Harry sounded into Malfoy's mouth, and then pulled away to half protest and encourage, "Blaise!"

The dark Slytherin chuckled behind Harry, and didn't stop. Malfoy's flushed face was smiling at Harry, a genuine smile with lust sharpening the blue in his eyes. His fingers teased at Harry's nipples, and then his mouth was there. Harry pushed his face against the back of the chair.

"Ohh," he found himself moaning, "Mmm…"

His face felt hot. Blaise's fingers were teasing his crack, just easing between his cheeks, and it was embarrassing and titillating. Malfoy's tongue laved over a nipple and then licked up the sweat on his chest. His hands moved down to stroke over Harry's thighs. A tightening was there between Harry's thighs, and he could feel its echoes below and behind him.

Blaise whispered a spell, and the chair beneath them became a long, strange couch bed. He kneeled down and pushed his body up against Harry. His hands rested on the back of the chair, and holy Merlin, Harry could feel the telltale bulge of arousal pressed up against his buttocks now. Blaise rubbed it over him while Malfoy's hands moved in closer to Harry's straining trouser tent.

The first rub of Malfoy's palm over Harry's arousal made Harry shudder. He groaned as that soft, small hand wrapped around his length and tugged. It was nothing like his hand there; it was so much better. Malfoy's teeth were on Harry's ear and neck, and Blaise's fingers teased Harry's nipples while his hips jerked up against Harry. Harry could hear his pants behind him and felt them hot over the back of his neck.

He wanted the heat of Blaise over him more, he wanted Blaise naked, and he wanted Malfoy's hand on his skin, and Malfoy's tongue, and he knew this wasn't what he'd come here for, or wanted from his Halloween, but it was so thrilling and he was so curious, he couldn't bear to stop. He'd never been treated this way, and it was amazing.

He let it happen when Malfoy's hands pulled his trousers down and off, and he let himself sink back into Blaise's arms. He laid his head on Blaise's thigh with the heat there right next to him. He was naked now, having worn nothing beneath his pajama pants. Harry shut his eyes, panting for breath. What would they think of him naked? No one had ever seen him naked before. It felt alien and unnerving, but also free.

"Harry, Harry…"

The whimper belonged to Malfoy, who crouched over Harry's body, straddling him. His soft fingers stroked Harry's cheek, and the gentle touch forced Harry to open his eyes as the roaring fire snake in him had not.

Grey-blue eyes drank him in and swallowed him. Harry stared up at Malfoy, who wasn't really his enemy anymore, couldn't be, in this moment.

"Draco," he whispered, and it came out husky. Then, not wanting to forget his newest friend he smiled up at Blaise.

Lust burned up Harry and subsumed him. It scorched darkly out of Blaise's eyes and made Harry even more aroused. That gaze trailed up and down Harry's body in obvious approval, and Harry was pleased to see the affected swallow that Blaise responded with. He stroked his hands through Harry's hair and down his sweaty throat, and then he reached to caress Harry's cock. His fingertips, just the fingertips, stroked up Harry's length, up and down, up and down…

Harry shut his eyes and moaned, quivering. Then another hand, smaller, softer, was stroking up his thighs. The sensation made Harry jump. No one had ever touched him like this before. Their longing for him was melting him; the snake of lust was lunging in his every limb, making him shake.

Blaise's hands drifted away from Harry's cock up to his chest, his neck, his ears. Draco, because he couldn't be Malfoy now, tilted his head down and Harry knew what he meant to do and he almost laughed in sheer embarrassment and elation and –

"Fuck! Oh Merlinnn…nnn…"

Harry forced himself still in the first moment that the hot, wet tongue slipped delightfully up his cock. Then he was writhing, writhing, as that long muscle tasted him in dripping, hungry licks, coating his cock with saliva, suckling his skin, and Malfoy's pale hands massaged his balls, and Harry was whimpering as a gentle scrapes of teeth sent pleasure roaring through him.

"Ahh!" He couldn't seem to be quiet. Blaise's strong hands held his hips _down_, forcefully, but he couldn't stop Harry's sounds. Harry reached down to pull hard on Malfoy's hair as that tongue continued to lick at him and bite and suck and kiss, up and down over and over in a random pattern until Harry felt close to exploding.

He looked down and Malfoy's eyes were like a darkening night, twinkling with stars, and then while Harry was looking at him his mouth descended over the head of Harry's cock and began to suck. Merlin he was gorgeous, yes, _Malfoy,_ no, Draco, was gorgeous, as his reddened mouth went over Harry's cock and his pink tongue flashed into sight. Then he shut his eyes, and Harry stared at long pale lashes for a moment, before Draco took him further in with a hard groan and pulsed pleasure aching so hard through Harry.

And Draco kept groaning, as his mouth slowly took in all of Harry's cock. Merlin, how did he do that? Harry humiliated himself even further, chanting, "Please, please, _please_!" He tore at Draco's hair so hard it must hurt, but he didn't care, he wanted more.

Draco lifted his head up, abandoning Harry, and smirked. "What will you give me if I do?"

Harry glared at him. "Slytherin to the core, you conniving bastard." He panted. "What do you want?"

Blaise whispered, "Bad question…" and Harry felt nervousness leap in him.

Draco was grinning, and licked his lips. "I want you, Harry, every bit of you."

"You already have my bits," Harry groused, "You just had them in your mouth."

The two Slytherins laughed loudly, and Blaise said, "That's why I like him."

Draco turned up his nose but could not hide his smile. "You know what I mean, Harry."

Harry did know what he meant. He wanted Harry's virginity. And right now Harry felt ready to give him anything, anything so he'd get Harry off, but he had to think about this. Was this what he really wanted?

Blaise looked down at Harry and asked, "Saving it for someone? Marriage? I'm genuinely curious."

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it. "Er. No. But…but can we wait? I mean…this is…"

"It's too fast for you," Blaise answered, and Harry nodded.

Draco scrunched his nose and then said, "Alright."

But he knew what Harry wanted, that Harry wanted him to finish it, even if he didn't want to give Draco everything right this second. His tongue swept up Harry's length again, and he took Harry's cock in quicker this time. With that burn and heat and wet there, Harry couldn't help moving. His hips jerked up to meet that sensation, to drive himself deeper. He was making noise and Blaise was swearing, and Draco was engrossed. His hands had moved down to clench Harry's arse, and he let Harry drive in once, twice, three times, and then Harry was coming with a shout down his throat and it was spilling out the corners of his mouth.

Harry had never felt so good in his life as that orgasm. After it he lay there gasping like he would never breathe properly again. His body felt so loose and good. He hadn't realized how tense it had been from the crowds and sitting in class and hours of homework.

And now there was Blaise, intentionally or unintentionally giving Harry a show – again. Mother of Merlin! He'd slid out from underneath Harry, and standing up, he stripped. His cock was even more beautiful than it had been before. Erect, pleading, it stood up from his mass of dark curls. In entirety he was like a god of Greek statues or Italian Renaissance art; his body was perfect, strong and healthy, his skin smooth, and his hair a romantic mess of curls. He had full lips, a charming smirk that flashed at Harry now, and those thirsty, burning eyes…

He reached out to Draco, and with a smirk the blonde allowed Blaise to rid him of his robes.

Naked, light and dark, they stood there together, and then Blaise was pulling Draco in, and his hand pulled their cocks together, and he rubbed them hard and fast. If Harry hadn't just come, he would have now. Draco was moaning and Blaise wasn't able to be quiet anymore, either. Growls came from his throat, hungry and yet also satisfied. His fingers tickled over Draco's cock, pinched and tugged and fondled, and when Draco came, Blaise followed.

He lay Draco down on the makeshift bed next to Harry, and with his dark eyes half-open but awake with lust, he licked up the hot come from Draco's belly. His tongue was fast and never stopped moving, and he made little sounds like "mmm" and "yes," and "Draco" while he did it.

When he was done, he lifted his head, and caught Harry watching. He grinned, and then looked back at Draco. Draco was looking up at Blaise, and for once he seemed to return the affection Harry knew Blaise had for him. His hand reached up into Blaise's wild curls, and he stroked through them, and then down Blaise's nose to his lips. He embraced Blaise, pulling him against him.

For a moment the two were blended together, a beautiful mixture, and then Blaise seemed to decide he was too heavy, and he shifted to lie between them.

Harry lay there, naked, and satisfied. He couldn't believe it – naked in the same room as Draco Malfoy! Naked next to gorgeous Blaise Zabini! They weren't quite all friends, not really, but he knew they had potential together.


	10. Chapter 10

_Dear readers...I am so sorry, but this is the last chapter. I ran out of everything - ideas, enthusiasm, story conflict, time, energy...so I had to wrap things up. I am so sorry that after all the UST, after all the plot, it comes to this simple, quick ending. I had planned to have far more scenes between these three, where they talk and have fun...but I just can't give anymore to this fic. I've run out._

_Thank you so much for your readership and reviews. I am very indebted._

**EVERY YOU, EVERY ME**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_CHAPTER 10_

_HARRY_

_XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOOOXXO_

Harry lay there, naked, and satisfied. He couldn't believe it – naked in the same room as Draco Malfoy! Naked next to gorgeous Blaise Zabini! They weren't quite all friends, not really, but he knew they had potential together.

He lay there for a while, just content, and breathing deeply in and out. He hadn't had much of a chance to relax, even after defeating Voldemort, because school had not stopped. Life went on. But here, time had seemed to stop – reality, too, since this all was so new – and he just enjoyed it. It was so free, and it was so different. Someone always wanted something from him. Now, they just wanted _him_, and he was happy to give it out, if this satisfaction was the result.

Except he wasn't sure he wanted to give his virginity to Draco Malfoy. No, he wasn't saving it, but he still thought it was something important – like getting a job, or graduating, something normal that he had access to, something he could get, unlike Ron's big family or parents (which he had, anyway, being an honorable Weasley in a sense). Losing one's virginity was a regular milestone and part of life that he could actually participate in. So it was important to him.

Harry decided to keep all those thoughts to himself, and turned over onto his stomach. He looked over at the other two. Draco was lying on his side, and his eyes drank in Harry and then met Harry's. Harry blushed at the greed and joy in that gaze. Blaise, stretched out between them, had his eyes closed.

But his voice again worked to keep them focused on forming a friendship, rather than just the physical.

"How are your friends, Harry?"

Harry shook his head from one side to another. "Well…they're alright. Hermione is working hard for the N.E.W.T.S. and such, trying to cram in as many books as she can before break."

Draco rolled his eyes, and Blaise laughed.

He could see Draco visibly work to ask, "And…Weasley?"

Blaise answered for him. "Jealous as fuck about all the attention, but Harry kindly tolerates him."

Harry shot a single glare at Blaise, and then sighed. "Yeah."

Draco opened his mouth as if to say something biting as usual, but then he closed it. He seemed to pause and think for a moment, struggling to hold back his comments – something which required him to look away from Harry, Harry noticed with a grin – and then he said, "So. Where are you spending your winter break. I'll be here…"

He didn't need to finish. His grimace told that he was going to hate his break, hated his life as a fugitive, and that he desperately wanted them to visit again but was just too damn _proud_ to admit it.

"I'll visit," Blaise said shortly. "Anything's better than being around my mother."

Harry got sidetracked by that. He wondered what Blaise's murderous mother was like. Was she a sick, horrible woman like Bellatrix Lestrange had been, who loved killing? Was she insane?

"I'll probably be at the Burrow," he admitted, and then watched the expectancy on Draco's face fall into sorrow. "But um, maybe I can visit. Since Voldemort's out of the picture. Although, the Death Eaters probably want me dead more than they want you dead…"

He was looking at Draco, so it was obvious to whom he was speaking to. But still, the Slytherin knew he'd left it out any name because of uneasiness. Was his face that easy to read?

"You called me Draco," Draco said quietly. "Don't be shy. Say it."

A smile turned his lips. His chin rested easily on one hand. Looking at the two of them, Harry was breathless. He wondered how he'd managed to get two beautiful boys. And how long they'd be keeping their clothes off. Now that they'd gone this far…he wanted to touch them again.

"Draco," Harry whispered. The reaction it earned was a brilliant smile that was, really, quite handsome. Then he found himself reaching out to the blonde, and pulling Draco into a teeth-crunching, hard kiss.

Blaise watched from below, and when they were done, he said, "I knew you two would be good together."

They all three looked at each other, and Blaise said, "You can both visit me. I'll figure something out. Maybe Dumbledore can help again. And you'll still have time to visit your other friends, Harry."

_Other friends._ Meaning they were his friends now, too. It was so strange! But _he,_ Harry, had instigated it. And he was enjoying it.

Harry wanted to touch them again, to play again, but he was also curious about them. He settled for twining a curl of Blaise's dark hair around his finger as he asked, "So…what's your mum like?"

Blaise flashed him a grin. "Heard about her, have you? Of course. The Slug Club. My mother is a devil to deal with. She's impulsive as a child, and as worried about fashion and figure as one of those anorexic Muggle models. Her mood swings very easily, and it's hard keeping on her good side for very long. She can be very charming…and she used to be very social, before circumstances required that we be in hiding."

Harry noticed that he skirted around the real issue – that his mother killed a husband a year – and that he didn't seem apologetic about his mother at all.

He wanted to be angry – the men hadn't deserved to be slaughtered – but instead, he read what Blaise didn't say, as long lashes dipped down to cover dark eyes.

"She's your mum," Harry said, "So you love her, even if she's…different."

He remembered what Blaise had said about Narcissa Malfoy, that she was cold but not as manipulative as Lucius, and looked up at their blonde companion. Draco was looking down at Blaise with a frown, as if trying to read him.

But Blaise would not be read if he didn't want to be. He was hiding, with his eyes closed like that. What was he feeling?

"Come on," Harry said, nudging him, "We're friends here. Right?" He looked up at Draco.

The blonde Slytherin swallowed, and then said a little snottily, "You still haven't shaken my hand."

Ah. He still remembered that? The Malfoy pride kicked in at last. Trust it to spoil any good mood. Harry growled, and thrust out his hand. "There."

Draco moved his hand away, instead. "_You_ have to initiate the contact."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright. Alright." He reached over Blaise, and took that soft hand into his, and shook it. "Better?"

Draco's eyes sparkled with mischief and anger mixed. "A bit. But you have to mean it."

Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Bellatrix. Thankfully she was dead now. "Okay."

He noticed Blaise's eyes open now, watching as Harry's hand slid over. Smiling, Harry took Draco's pale, small hand, and shook it firmly. He noticed Draco shook back. "Harry Potter. Nice to meet you. Stop insulting my friends and I think we'll be okay. Oh and by the way, you're, er, attractive."

Draco smiled that rare, brilliant smile again, and a low rumbling laugh worked its way out of Blaise's throat. "Harry Potter, you are a character."

Harry smiled. "Actually, the strange thing is that I'm very real, and my strange life is real."

Draco sat up more. "That reminds me. The Parseltongue. What were you saying? And can I see the Chamber of Secrets? I promise I won't do an ancient dance to the statue of Salazar Slytherin."

Harry laughed. "I didn't say anything important. Just, er…stuff."

Blaise lifted his head to look at Draco. "See what I mean? Aggravatingly evasive at times."

"What else did you write about me in your letter, Blaise?" Harry asked.

Blaise didn't get to answer, because Draco asked, "What else did I miss?"

"Well," Blaise counted on his fingers, "There were the kitchens. The visit to the famous Astronomy Tower, in which I only got to kiss him – " that earned him a glare – "and there was the time I got caught by a plant in the greenhouses, by my hair, and Harry saved me."

Draco laughed. "Seriously?"

Blaise flushed, something rare to see. "Yes. My hair is more trouble than it's worth, sometimes."

Harry ran a hand through his own. "I know what you mean!"

The Slytherins laughed, probably at his hair sticking up in all directions now. "And what else?" Draco pressed.

"We went to the Forbidden Forest," Harry grinned, "And I wanted to introduce him to Hagrid, so he could suffer over one of Hagrid's rock cakes, but he distracted me with a night fly. I think he would be a good Chaser, by the way, if he were on the team."

Draco sat up more, and smirked, pointing out, "But then you'd have to play against him."

"So what, I'm still going to beat your arse, even if we're friends now. I'd do the same for Ron or Hermione, if they were on different teams than me."

At that image – Hermione on a broom, he hadn't seen that in years, and Ron a Seeker? – Harry laughed, and the Slytherins laughed with him.

"Harry," Blaise said quietly, smiling. "I noticed it's okay to laugh at your friends if we're laughing with _you_. That's a great bit of hypocrisy, there."

Then his smile left, and he looked up at Harry. His look wasn't accusing or sharp, but the sudden lack of a smile said he wasn't joking anymore.

Harry squirmed, and then shot out, "Well, you do the same. I bet you two make fun of Crabbe and Goyle all the time."

"That's different," Draco was quick to reply, "Everyone makes fun of them. But your friends are genuine…they're liked…and yet you can make fun of them? And only you? Come on. Weasley's as clumsy as if he had a Bludger constantly hitting his arse, and the – Granger, she's an annoying know it all –"

"Shut it, Malfoy, or I'll shut it for you."

The blonde bristled. "Oh, so it's 'Malfoy' now, eh?"

Blaise sat up between them, and pushed a hand against their chests. "Stop it, you. Draco, hold your tongue. Harry, don't be so quick to react. I made a good point, and he's only supporting it, although he had to add his own lengthy commentary. We know you two don't like each other's friends, that's settled – myself being the exception. Either stop talking about it, or make changes. Whinging on about it doesn't help, and it will give me a headache, and then _I_ will shut you both up."

Harry sat back, away from Blaise's hand, and Malfoy – Draco, whatever – sat back too, grumbling something under his breath. Blaise shot him a glare, and then gave Harry a cautionary look.

When they looked appropriately still, and Harry attempted to look apologetic, Blaise tossed his hair back and said, "Thank Merlin that's over. That's the other part you missed Draco – arguments, none of which were this annoying, some of which were fun, and I was careful not to insult his friends."

Draco harrumphed and said nothing.

Harry sat there, and anger boiled through him. Malfoy was so frustrating! He couldn't but call him Malfoy in his head at times like this. The blonde was insufferable and so stuck in his ways.

But Blaise did have a point that Harry laughed at his friends but didn't let others. It _was_ hypocritical. Really, he should stay loyal all the time, and he shouldn't let Malfoy's petty comments bother him so much. What had he expected, that Malfoy would suddenly buddy up to Ron and Hermione? He didn't understand the Weasley/Malfoy hatred at all, but it was undeniably there. Malfoy's prejudice against Muggleborns was the bigger issue, really.

Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised when Draco said quietly, "Harry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't say lousy things about your friends. Merlin knows they're better than some of mine. Loyal. Informal. Smart. My mouth likes to shoot itself off a lot, and I don't seem to know when to stop…"

"You really don't," Blaise quipped sharply. Draco frowned at him, and then looked at Harry.

Harry swallowed. "Yeah. Well. You should work on that. It's really annoying. But um…" He scratched his head, laughing, "That's how you ended up kissing me, which was how this all started, so I guess it can be good sometimes."

Immediately pleasure spilled into Draco, visible as a becoming blush on his cheeks. "You liked it, didn't you," he purred, and leaning forward, he pulled Harry into another kiss.

This time, he made it slow. His mouth gently moved over Harry's, his tongue eased into Harry's mouth. He explored Harry thoroughly, slowly, with a moan of eagerness tearing out of him. His tongue was a teasing hot whip in Harry's mouth, a fluid eel that sent electric shock waves of pleasure, and stirred Harry towards arousal.

Against his will, Harry found his hands were easing up Draco's neck, pushing into his hair. His body was closer to Draco's now. Blaise sat up, just a little, and his hand combed down through the dark thatch of hair at Harry's abdomen, and then his smooth, long fingers grasped Harry's cock.

Harry moaned at the touch, pulling away from the kiss. He moaned again as Draco's mouth kissed over his neck, while at the same time Blaise's hand began to pump Harry slowly.

As much as Harry enjoyed it, he wanted to explore, too. So he pushed his hands down Draco's shoulders, down, down, to grope his arse. The blonde moaned, "Mmm, Harry…" Then, with his hands shaking, Harry moved his hands forward and slid just his fingertips over Draco's cock.

A violent shiver broke through Draco's body. "Please," he whispered, "please…"

Harry wrapped his hand firmly around Draco's cock. He rubbed his thumb over it quickly, watching, his gaze flitting back and forth from what his hand was doing to Draco's face. The Slytherin's face was flushed now, his cock hard, and he was panting. Harry kept on rubbing, swallowing hard at the display, at where his hand was; at the fact what he was doing this.

His gaze was torn away, as Blaise lifted a hand, and stuck two fingers into his mouth. Harry watched with a barely held back groan boiling in him, as Blaise wetted those two fingers very well. His eyes widened as Blaise hand descended down over Draco's buttocks, and then pressed in –

"Mmm!" Draco's hips bucked suddenly. "Blaise!" he hissed.

A pleased, wide smirk, like a cat's, came over Blaise's face. But his eyes were hooded and dark in lust. Just looking at him with that expression made Harry more aroused. He paused in treating Draco a moment, and then licked his lips. He wanted to make Draco more verbal, more writhing, messier.

His hands gripped Draco's hips hard, and he slid down on the spelled couch. He worked saliva into his mouth, eagerness and nervousness jittering and zapping in him, and then with his eyes closed, he leaned to his task. It was just like other tasks, he told himself. He could do it. If he could defeat the Dark Lord, he could certainly do this.

The bare, heated skin of Draco's cock against Harry's lips was very soft. That was what he registered, beyond the moans Draco was making, and the grunts that Blaise made as he thrust his fingers into Draco. Then Harry was licking, tentatively, shakily, and Draco's hands were fisting in his hair, and he was panting Harry's name over and over.

The sound of his name urged Harry on, and became like an encouraging cheer. So he began to move his tongue faster, arcing it up that veined, hot skin, and the harder and longer he licked, the more he liked it. His face felt hot and his body trembled, but he kept going. He began to add suckling kisses in, tasting Draco, and then his hand wrapped around the base, and it was simple now. He held it with one hand, and licked with the other.

When he reached the head, and licked there, faster, a beautiful whimper that set Harry's hair on end spilled from Draco's lips. He was thrusting forward now, up, and Harry struggled as his cock pushed into Harry's mouth. Gryffindor courage and Slytherin will worked together, and he kept up, as Draco pushed into him. Harry knew he was being noisy now – Merlin, this was good! – and increased the pace.

Blaise was panting below them. Draco was a flushed, sweaty mess, pushing back to Blaise and then up to Harry, his hips jerking up again and again. He was moaning for every swipe of Harry's tongue, and swore when Harry used his teeth a little. Harry's tongue was lashing all over, and he drank in the sweat and lust of his nemesis.

The world was dropped away. He was just Harry, enjoying this, turning his friend into a mush of libido satisfied. He had dreamt of doing this, or having Draco do this to him, after that kiss. He'd certain thought of doing this to Blaise. But actually doing it made a roaring pleasure steam in him and roll through him. It made his limbs tremble, and he himself panting and groaning too, and taking breaks to breathe.

Then he pulled away again, and watched as Draco's pleasure exploded over him. Blaise did not lick it up this time, but spelled it away, and Draco let Blaise hug him to his side with a grin. They were beautiful, naked, sweaty, pleased, smiling at Harry.

"You were good, Harry," Draco said throatily, "_So_ good."

Harry smiled, and laid himself over the two of them. He was content.

_XOXOXXOXOXOXOOXOXXOOOXOX_

_DRACO_

Even though it was absolutely boring and terrifying to be a fugitive, Draco was happy whenever Harry showed up. It happened three more times before winter came, and the first two were good.

In the first visit, Harry came to visit him all by himself. Finally! Draco had wanted him all to himself for a while, especially since Blaise had gotten all that time with him. He knew he was burning with jealousy, and he hadn't done a good job of hiding it, but oddly, Harry had been okay with that. All that kissing and more...Merlin, when Draco saw him after that, he almost just wanted to pull the Gryffindor into his arms.

But he didn't. He held that back. Instead, he pulled up a chair and scooted it towards Harry, and then plopped back onto the couch.

They sat across from each other, staring stupidly, and then Harry blurted, "Hey so, um…what are your Christmases usually like? What do you do on winter holidays?"

Draco wiggled further down in his seat and scratched at the knee of his trousers before looking up at Harry. Those green eyes were focused on him, and Harry even looked relaxed and comfortable. He wore one of those horrible Weasley jumpers, a brilliant red. It was a little small on him, and Draco liked that.

"Well…lots. I go see Quidditch tournaments. I go on trips…Russia, China, South Africa, Japan…have you ever seen the weird stuff they do with magic over there? It's really bizarre…lots of strange polyjuice things, and some weird muggle troubles with all their robots and other little entertaining inventions…sometimes I just go to people's houses, if mum drags me to her parties…that gets boring fast. I usually get into trouble at those."

Again, he'd rambled his mouth off. But he had Harry's interest. The brunette raised his brows. "Trouble? Like what?"

He smiled. Draco smiled back.

From there, it was surprisingly easy. Draco told him about the time he had released a whole flock of griffins on his fellow playmates "by accident", and Harry told him about the time he blew up his Aunt Marge. Draco avoided the burning questions he had about Harry's home life, knowing it was a point of upset for Harry, and went on to ask about Parseltongue, the Chamber of Secrets, and Hogwarts secrets Harry was privy to. Finally they descended into discussing games – Quidditch, Chess, and other ones that Draco knew about but Harry didn't.

By the time they paused for breath, it was late into the night. Draco knew that Harry had to leave soon. He didn't want him to. He could sit here like this with Harry forever. He'd wanted this for so long.

They were sitting on the couch next to each other now, and Draco had one arm over Harry's shoulder. It felt perfect to have him close. He had his hand in Harry's hair and was playing with it.

"Harry," he whispered, "I…I want to thank you for…Merlin, this sounds so stupid, but for being you, and being willing to give me a second chance. I've shown you my sides – the stupidity, the jealousy, the happy…a bit of sad…and you don't seem to mind any of it."

Harry looked at him deeply for a moment. Draco was lost in those green eyes by the time Harry responded. "Well," he said, "I get that. I mean…there are a lot of sides to me, too. If everyone doesn't like them, what can you do, you know? But the best of my friends, the people who are closest to me, see all the 'Harry's there are and tolerate them. Every me…so, it's only fair that I give the same back, and try to know you, every you, you know?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah. Yeah. Let's keep trying…learning about each other…"

He leaned in then, and Harry accepted his kiss.

After that, things happened very fast. Once, Blaise showed up to tell Draco quickly that Dumbledore was dying…and the next thing Draco knew, his two brunettes were in his room again, having attended the old man's funeral.

It was then that Draco witnessed Harry cry. He had heard of it, but never seen it up close…and he didn't think Harry would ever be comfortable enough around him to do that.

They sat there silently, mournfully, and he and Blaise traded a concerned look. Harry lay back on the couch, his eyes shut, his entire being seeming shut to them. His magic trickled out from him and made things shake and shiver. He refused to say anything no matter what they said, so they'd stopped trying.

And then tears were gliding down his face. He began to shake and sob uncontrollably. Through his tears, his anger was evident. "I hate this," he growled through his tears, "After everything, after all that guidance, he just…up and dies. After all that! He was supposed to be here longer…to live to two-hundred or something. He was supposed to see me get older, and…see me do something other than just kill stupid Voldemort. He was supposed to be around…"

He crumpled his body in, with Blaise and Draco on either side, as if he didn't want them involved. But when Draco reached out and grabbed his hand really hard, and Blaise wrapped an arm around him, he let them.

He didn't say anything about his friends, about if he had done this with them. But Draco didn't care, really. Harry was hurt, and he wanted to help him all he could. He hadn't ever cared so much about someone else. The fact that Harry was like this in front of him didn't just mean he was hurt though…it spoke a certain level of trust.

Draco was determined to build on that trust, build and build…and he had a feeling, a suspicion, that if he tried his best, put his all into it like he hadn't with anything before, that he could have something, finally, fantastically, with Harry Potter; something more than the friendship he'd first wanted, and more than the lusty fulfillment he'd wanted recently. Something real and meaningful…something where they could be like this, even, and it would be alright.

He had a chance at it, he knew he did, and it was more than he could have ever hoped to have.

_XOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXXO_

_BLAISE_

It was a very plain house, on a very plain street, number 4, Privet Drive. Blaise would never have imagined that Harry James Potter lived in such an ordinary place. Of course, the entire wizarding world had never imagined that Harry Potter was anything short of grand, therefore everything related to him must be grand too, right?

Not so. This ugly, far too neat house, with its flowers by the windowsill and the window at the top of the door, was so normal and Muggle that it made Blaise squirm. He'd only agreed to have Harry visit him and Draco at his home because of the desperation he sensed in both their letters – one, pleading for relief from his horrid family and upset friends and grieving, the other bored and antsy and angry at being kept in forced isolation for safety, until some signal came from the Order.

They were both going mad, and Blaise wasn't, so by rights it was his job to arrange everything.

He pressed the doorbell and sighed. He had been waiting for a long time now. Loud shouting came from inside the house, and he could hear Harry now as well as the uncle, and it was making him anxious.

Finally, the door wrenched open, and Harry practically stumbled right into Blaise. His face was flushed and his hair was a tangle. It looked like he'd been running his hands through it in frustration. He wore the same baggy shirt and trousers style Blaise had seen beneath his robes before, as well as a pair of grimy trainers. The hero of the wizarding world looked particularly normal and particularly furious at the moment.

"I'M LEAVING NOW," he bellowed back at his uncle, "SO YOU WON'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME ANYMORE! MAYBE I WON"T COME BACK!"

Blaise looked past Harry as a gigantic, huffing, purple-faced man with a mustache came to the door. He jabbed a fat finger in Blaise's face from around Harry.

"You," he growled, "are not welcome in my house, in my yard, or on my doorstep. I demand you leave, this instant, or I'll call the police! Bloody weirdos, invading…at least you rang the doorbell like a normal person."

Blaise gave him a cold, icy glare, so sharp, so hard, that the man was forced to look away first. Then he grabbed Harry's bag, and without a blink, shrunk it and stuffed it into his pocket. Screw Ministry policy. They were too busy dealing with Death Eaters anyway. And his house was Unplottable.

Grinning at the way the fat man goggled Blaise yanked Harry closer. Very close. The uncle was now accompanied in the hall by his hideous wife (Lily had all the good genes, it seemed) and atrociously fat soon. Good. They could see this, too. Blaise winked at the trio, and then pulled Harry into a hard, passionate kiss.

When he was done – mm! – he looked back at the three. The uncle was so purple he was almost black. The aunt had fallen to the side. And the cousin looked like he would have nightmares about it forever. Good. Served the idiots right.

And then Blaise wrapped Harry in a tight embrace, and took him far, far away, where he and Draco could have him to themselves, and where hopefully Harry would be happy, until they had to return back to school and deal with angry friends and crime and House rivalry and everything again.

It was more than enough. It was good – no, delicious, exciting…no, there wasn't really any right word for it.

It was the three of them, together, for however long, happy, like they hadn't been when apart. So, it was close to perfect.

Yes. That was it. Close to perfect.

_THE END_


End file.
